Obligations of the Heart
by GStales
Summary: Matt Dillon must deal with an Obligation of the Heart.
1. Chapter 1

**Obligations of the Heart**

Gunsmoke fan fiction ~ written for my own amusement, with no intent to profit. Warning ... there is a death of a major character in the telling of this tale. Please be advised that my version of canon and your version might differ. This is not a history lesson, so please do not take it as such.

**One**

Matt Dillon's heart was broken, and no one doubted the fact. He went about his job, performing his responsibilities to duty and the badge, but the fire that lit the light in his eyes had gone out. He made a weekly pilgrimage to the still fresh grave nestled safely between Sam and Louie. He took some comfort in the fact that the place to the right of her had been set-aside for him when he passed. He couldn't deny the fact he looked forward to the day.

The irony of her death was not lost to him. Just when their life and love together seemed more a possibility than a daydream of a far-off someday she had been taken from him. Her disease had been swift, so swift that many things were left unsaid and it was perhaps for this reason, that peace of heart and mind seemed so allusive to him now.

He distanced himself from any connection to her estate, leaving all legal matters to her lawyer, Roman Gundrum. Dillon was aware of course the bulk of her assets were left to him. But, her attorney had seen to the selling of the saloon and the disbursement of funds intended for those friends who formed the nucleus of their family. He had no need for her money; it would never make him a wealthy man. For riches had been his when he had her and without her he would never be more than a pauper.

The new owner of the saloon urged him to clean out her room and remove those personal possessions he wished to keep. Doc Adams had offered to help, but Dillon couldn't bring himself to do it. How could he bear to step foot into that room which had been the heart of their universe?

**GS GS GS GS**

The lawman sat at his desk after his day's work was finished, as he had every night since her death. He slowly sipped a small glass of rye whiskey while trying to come to terms with the emptiness. Tucked away safely in the middle drawer was a sealed envelope. Her attorney had handed it to him after the funeral. The knowledge of its presence haunted him like no other ghost of the past. He knew it was an obligation of love to read what she had to say to him, but his heart was too sore to bear another wound. The need of a connection to her was strong, and he reckoned just holding the envelope might ease the loneliness. He finished his glass and poured another to buck up his courage before opening the drawer and pulling out the letter. Closing his eyes he held it to his nose and inhaled the scent of her, which clung to the paper folds. He breathed her name while keeping his body motionless. Moisture formed at the corners of his eyes. Finally, when he'd gained a measure of control he opened them to study the sealed document. Her writing had always been strong, not the usual loops and flourishes associated with the feminine hand. It was addressed to him, "_Matthew Dillon, to be delivered in the event of my death."_

He made a move to open it, tearing a small corner, but stopped. Courage didn't often fail the man but it did now. Hastily, he placed the envelope back in the drawer and shut it. Finishing his drink he rose from the chair, undid the heavy buckle, which secured his gun belt and slid the leather strap to its hook on the wall. With a sigh, he sat down on his comfortless cot and pulled off his boots. As he lay down he thought about how weary he was. He closed his eyes and welcomed a deep dreamless sleep aware the morning would come to bring another day and another lonely night.

**GS GS GS GS**

"Everyone" had long said Matt Dillon was married to his job; the badge pinned to his chest represented a contract as binding as any wedding vow. Kitty Russell was his mistress; of course, not in the true sense of the word, for one such as she, could never be a kept woman. But "everyone" realized his allegiance was to duty first. It was not for public knowledge that talks had been taking place to form dissolution of that union of man and badge. A proposal had been presented and accepted, with the addendum that the new union would take place when a suitable surrogate was found to wear the badge.

Matt and Kitty had spent precious hours together talking about their future. Her eyes would sparkle with happy tears when she said the word 'our home' and he'd thought there was never a word so sweet as that. They had scoured the county searching for the perfect location to settle in. Carefully they drew plans for their house taking each other's preferences into consideration. When the home site had been found, her attorney had seen to the purchase of the property, and the ordering of lumber and building supplies. Work had begun on the structure, a solid two story framed home, when she died. In his grief, Matt Dillon had ordered the attorney to have the half-built house burned to the ground. The workers were never aware of whose house they had been building and whose house they were ordered to destroy.

**GS GS GS GS**

Dodge City was a far cry from the wild cattle town he'd tamed a couple of decades earlier. The peace of respectability allowed the lawman too much time to dwell on his losses. Word from the Federal Marshal's office that trouble was brewing near the Mexican border had given Dillon respite from his mourning. It felt right to rededicate heart and soul to his original calling and he didn't look back as he rode out of town. The badge had him for good now, he figured. As it was before, it was now; Matt Dillon was a man with no strings attached to him.

It was near to five weeks later when he rode back into the quiet prairie town. Familiar faces smiled and waved their hellos from the neatly swept boardwalks, "Good to have you back, Marshal." They called and he nodded his head and tipped his hat in reply.

Dillon brought his horse to a stop in front of his office and stiffly dismounted. As he slipped the gelding's reins over the hitching post, he could hear Festus Hagen arguing with Doc Adams from inside the closed door. The lawman masked a smile behind a frown, thinking it was good to be home. He paused before opening the door to catch the drift of their discussion.

"I'm a tellin you Doc, he don't know nothing about this."

"Well good heavens I know that, he'd never have left if he did, that's why we've got to get word to Matt to get back here."

Dillon's frown deepened in earnest as he opened the door, foregoing a salutation he asked, "What don't I know about?"

Hagen and Adams exchanged an anxious look; the older man swiped a hand over his face and whiskers in an attempt to hide his nervousness. However, he smiled with genuine pleasure to see his good friend. "Welcome back Matt, we were getting worried."

Festus moved forward to take Dillon's hand in a vigorous shake, "Well if you ain't a look some sight for sore eyeballs. Good to have you back Matthew, everything go all right for you, did it?" He asked.

Dillon's eyes were narrowed suspiciously at the pair; he nodded and said, "Fine. How are things here?"

Running an uneasy finger around the edge of his shirt collar, Adams began, "Well Matt …"

Dillon let his gear fall to the floor, he was tired, and not in the mood for games, "Yeah?" he prompted.

Doc Adams was seldom at a loss for words; his talent for eloquent oration had served him well over the years. "The thing is . . ." This was not to be one of those occasions. He tried another tact, "About two weeks ago . . ."

Growing frustrated with the old man, Festus interrupted, "Doncha see Ol' Doc, you gotta have him read that there letter of Miss Kitty's."

Dillon flinched at the mention of Kitty's name. "What letter?" he asked.

"The one Roman Gundrum done gived you at Miss Kitty's funeral."

Dillon's blue eyes turned to ice, "What do you know about that letter?"

"It appears a heap more than you do Matthew. There's some things a go'n on around here, and I think Miss Kitty'd be better a tellin' you about it then me or Ol' Doc here."

Dillon moved to his desk and opened the middle drawer. "It ain't in there no more." Festus confessed.

"Where..." Matt began. But Doc was already pulling it out from the inside pocket of his suit coat. The seal was broken and Dillon's anger at this obvious invasion of his privacy was undeniable.

"Matt, I want you to know, under normal circumstances we would never have opened that letter; it's just that, well about two weeks ago..."

A tidal wave of emotion was drowning Matt Dillon, but he found the breath to say, "Shut up Doc."

Turning his back to his friends the lawman slid the paper from the envelope.

_My dear Matt,_

_If you are reading this, it must mean I am dead. Let me assure you I am quite healthy at this writing and cannot foresee any event, which might lead to my demise._

_Please do not mourn my passing, I have had a wonderful life, filled with love and adventure and true happiness. For that I have you to thank, sharing these years with you has made all the difference. I must confess, and this is very difficult to do, and I pray you will be able to understand, but we share more than years._

There was a commotion coming from outside the building, once again duty came between Matt and Kitty, forcing Dillon to leave her words unread on the page. Quickly, he folded the letter and put it in his pocket as the office door flew opened.

Ma Smalley's frazzled head appeared at the doorway, bobbing in and out of view. She was obviously still struggling with her combatant outside the door's frame. Unlike her male counterparts, Ma was in no mood to mince words. "Well Marshal, It's about time you got back. I've been tending to a little obligation of yours, but now that you're here..." With a yank the older woman pulled her opponent into full view of the lawman.

A belligerent little girl not more than seven years of age stood before them. She had wild red hair, a smattering of freckles across her cheeks, and deep set blue eyes, which turned to ice as she stared at her startled audience.

With a flourish Ma Smalley introduced, "Marshal Dillon, I present to you, Miss Matilda."


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

Their blue eyes connected reflecting a perfect match. Young Matilda held his gaze with a determined defiance. It took several heartbeats before Dillon pulled away in an effort to salvage his lost composure. He reproached himself for the thought that had crossed his mind. Stepping forward he moved to the little girl and lowered his large frame so it was more on a level with hers. He stretched out a welcoming hand, "How do you do Miss Matilda, I don't believe I've seen you around Dodge City before."

Ignoring his outstretched hand, she presented him with a scowl equal to any of his own. With a fist to her curveless hip she looked him over, starting with his dusty boots and working her way up until their eyes locked once again. Her voice was tinged with impertinence, as she answered, "I've never been to Kansas before."

Calling upon his depleted reserve of patience, Dillon offered, "In that case welcome to Dodge, are you kin to Mrs. Smalley here?"

Sighing, she shook her head back and forth. "Kitty said you could be kind of thick headed sometimes."

The look in Matt's eyes changed, "You knew Miss Kitty?"

Matilda straightened her spine drawing her slight frame to its full extension. She raised a single eyebrow before replying, "You might say that."

Dillon searched his brain for some mention Kitty might have made about a young female relative or acquaintance, but nothing came to him. He ran a nervous tongue over his suddenly dry lips, "Matilda, do you have a last name?"

She rolled her eyes at him, "Of course I do." Then, for some reason she took pity on him, for her voice softened to a slow drawl, "I go by the last name of my mother, but she always said my proper name was . . ." She took a deep breath, more for dramatic effect than need. With narrowed eyes and a patronizing tone the girl finished, "Matilda Russell … DILLON!"

This statement seemed to surprise no one in the room other than the lawman. Ma Smalley stepped forward. Aggravation elevated the pitch of her voice, "As you can see Marshall, the child is, pardon the expression, a little demon. It's obvious she's had no discipline. I can tell you, I've had my hands full trying to deal with her. I've nearly lost two boarders in the last couple weeks due to her shenanigans. Now, out of respect to her dear departed mother, I will allow her to stay on, for I can see a jail house is no place to raise a child, but I will expect you to move in to the boarding house and manage her care."

**GS GS GS GS**

At Doc's suggestion they had eaten dinner at Delmonico's that night. From the start the meal had all the hallmarks of a disaster. They had barely taken a first bite, before Matilda had sassed the old physician, made fun of Festus and ignored Dillon's presence altogether. For his part, Matt hardly seemed to notice for he moved through the meal like one in some sort of trance.

At one point, Festus had leaned over to Doc expressing his concern in a low voice, "I ain't seen Matthew acting so queer like, since the night Miss Kitty died."

Muffling his voice behind his napkin, Doc had whispered his diagnosis, "He's in shock."

It wasn't until dessert was brought to the table that Matt was able to emerge from his stunned silence, directing his questions to the little red haired girl, he asked, "Where did you grow up Matilda? Who's been taking care of you?"

His daughter pretended not to hear him and busied herself by pouring cream from the little pitcher on the table all over her chocolate cake then mashing the concoction together with her fork.

Sensing the potential for a clash of will between father and daughter, Festus stepped in, "It's all in that there letter Miss Kitty left for you Matthew."

The course was set and Matt wasn't about to be diverted from it, "Stop playing with your food Matilda." Dillon ordered in a firm voice, "Now, when I ask you a question, I expect an answer."

A little smirk lifted the corners of her mouth; she started humming a tune as she reached for the saltshaker and began seasoning the unsightly mixture on her plate.

Patience lost, Dillon reached over to clamp a firm hand around her saltshaker fell to the table, with a clunk. "Matilda, it's time we come to an understanding. I don't tolerate wasting food, and the next time you see fit to behave this way I'll make you eat it. Is that clear?"

There was no mistaking her look of contempt as she thrust forward her chin and lifted her eyes to his. Dillon squeezed the wrist a little tighter. "Is that clear?" he asked again. She nodded. "Good. Now, Miss Matilda, who brought you up?"

"I lived in the convent of the Sisters of Divine Charity."

"Is that in New Orleans ?"

Again she nodded.

"What about your mother?"

Matilda shrugged her shoulders. She didn't hide her resentment, "She came to see me every few months. Of course she kept promising that one day I'd live in Dodge and you and she would get married and I'd have a regular family. But, that was just words to keep me from feeling sad, and you know after a while I stopped believing them."

He spoke quietly, almost to himself, "She was right about one thing."

"Yeah? What?"

The big man released the grip on Matilda's wrist to take her small hand in his, "You're here in Dodge now, and the way I see it, sitting at this table, you're with family."


	3. Chapter 3

**three**

Matilda pulled a white nightgown from beneath her pillow. She undid the buttons of her dress and slipped her arms from the sleeves letting the garment fall to the floor. Stepping from it, she kicked it out of her way. She could hear noises coming from the adjoining room. Matt Dillon was moving in to Ma Smalley's boarding house. The sounds of drawers opening and closing repeated themselves. She got the strong impression from the forcefulness of the racket that the man was not happy. Somehow this knowledge pleased her, and she began humming as she slipped into the nightgown.

She stopped her song when she heard a door slam in Matt Dillon's room and the sound of his boots walking down the hall away from her room. A familiar cold loneliness washed over her. Fighting back the desire to cry, the little girl forced her trembling lips to form a straight line. She sniffed in her runny nose and ran the back of her hands over tear-wet eyes. "I don't need you Matt Dillon." She declared with childish bluster.

Throwing back her shoulders Matilda straightened her head, while giving her hair a toss with her hand. Her reflection in the vanity mirror caught her eye and she moved toward it. Even at her young age, the child knew she was pretty, and understood the value of her looks. Absentmindedly she picked up the brush Kitty had given her and began trying to pull it through the snarls. The action brought back memories of time spent with her mother. Their visits together had never been long enough and Kitty never left without the child asking, "Why can't we be like a real family?" Kitty would pull her so close that Matilda was enveloped in the sweet warmth of her mother's love. "I know this is hard and terribly unfair to you but I promise you with all my heart, someday, someday soon we will be a family. Until then never forget you and your father, mean everything to me, you are my life." Sighing Matilda placed the brush back on the vanity, her wild red hair looking no better for the effort.

Carefully, almost reverently she opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a doll. "Hello Miss Kitty, it's time for bed." She whispered. Kitty had given the German porcelain doll to Matilda for her sixth birthday. She had come with an elaborate wardrobe, many of the fashions styled after Kitty's gowns. The wig on her head was made from Kitty's own hair. She was dressed now in an elegant gown of green moss velvet and carried a sachet scented with her namesake's favorite fragrance.

With doll in tow, Matilda turned down the lamp and climbed under the bed covers. She wrapped her arms around the toy holding it tight while inhaling the sweet scent. With the dark of night came the tears she had fought against in the light of day. They washed over her in sobbing waves, and when they were spent she slept.

**GS GS GS GS**

Dillon made his rounds glad to have the familiar routine to fall into. Dodge was peaceful allowing Matt free rein to try to make sense of the cacophony of thoughts and feelings running through his mind. He walked the alley checking the back door locks of the city's Front Street businesses. As he did images and memories surfaced of his years together with Kitty. He tried to put them in some sort of chronological order. But, like sands in an hourglass, they all blended together and he found it difficult to remember if something had happened five years ago or twenty. He rounded the corner, and was back on the main street. The night's quiet was broken by a clip clip-clop, as a team of horses pulling an elderly farm wagon with a squeaky wheel passed in front of him. The lawman smiled at the silhouette of the old farmer sitting atop the buckboard, Harry Taylor must have closed the Lady Gay again; his wife Lucinda would be mighty put out with him. Then he remembered, Lucinda had died a year or so back. She had a gravestone on cemetery ridge, which claimed her as the 'beloved wife of Harry.' A hard truth hit Dillon, Harry Taylor was free to come and go as he pleased and no one was left waiting behind to give a damn.

His boots echoed down the hollow boardwalk. He passed the Long Branch just as Miss Hannah was getting ready to slide the dead bolt in place. She hid the pity from her voice as she bid him a good evening, "Can I interest you in a nightcap Marshall ?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Thanks, maybe some other time."

She smiled kindly, "The offer stands, when ever you feel inclined to accept it."

He nodded and moved on, knowing it would be a long time before he willingly stepped foot in the Long Branch . With his rounds completed he started walking back to his new room. But, he hesitated, it was a good night for a walk, and he was far too restless to attempt sleep between Ma Smalley's crisp white boarding house sheets.

It hadn't been a conscious effort, but the lawman found himself at the cemetery. Even in the dark he knew his way to her resting place. The full moon, which had been hiding behind a cloud, suddenly shown bright, its light illuminated her headstone. Kathleen Russell. 1845-1888, it was a simple marker; for no words of comfort had come to Dillon's mind when the order had been sent to the engraver. He had felt bad about that, for surely he should have known of a scripture or piece of fine poetry to speak of the woman's character. Kneeling beside her grave, he raised his hand to rest on the marker. Feelings were coming too fast for Dillon to deal with. His heart hammered in his chest, while his throat constricted and burned. He forced deep breaths in and out of his lungs, as his fingers tighten on the stone. With great effort, he suppressed the emotions, which dwelled so near the surface. His hand trailed to the letters carved in granite, his finger traced the outline. His voice was a hoarse whisper, that only the hoot owl heard,

"Why Kitty … why?"


	4. Chapter 4

**four**

The sky to the East of Dodge City was turning a paler shade of gray signaling a new day was on the rise. For Matt, it represented the end of a long night's struggle. He had lain awake staring at the ceiling while his mind traveled in a hundred different directions always ending up at the same point. A child, Kitty had had a child, how could he have not known? For so many years he had thought there were no lies between them, only to find she had kept from him the most important truth in his life. He felt a deep sense of betrayal and bitterly questioned if he had ever really known Kitty Russell, for the woman he loved could never have done this to him and to their child.

In the long dark hours he'd tried to remember back eight years. He wasn't good at dates and particulars unless they involved his job. Kitty, on the other hand had been, she would remember and retell chapter and verse of their years together, starting with their first conversation in Delmonico's. For a moment he forgot the hurt of her deception and thought only of her passing. The hole in his heart, left by her loss, deepened. With a shaky sigh, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. The weight of the world seemed to settle on his shoulders as he prepared to carry his grief through another day.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he ran splayed fingers through sleep-tousled hair. Eight years ago, 1872. With concentration incidents that hallmarked the year began to fall in place. Kitty's goldmine; how, she thought she could ever operate a gold mine, he didn't know. A brief smile lifted his lips, what a fight that had been, and oh how sweet the making up. Then there was the trouble with Judge Strom who had taken the law into his own hands, condemning Kitty and Festus to death for the murder of his son. He had come mighty close to losing them both on that day. A light akin to a beacon suddenly flickered in his memory. Mace Gore and his gang had taken over Dodge, looting the town, and putting four bullet holes in Matt's body. Doc had saved his life twice that day. As he lay bleeding in the street, the crafty old physician had pronounced him dead. Unknown to Kitty, Adams and Festus had hidden him away in the cellar of the Long Branch where Doc extracted the bullets. It wasn't until Mace Gore had been killed the following day that Kitty had found out Matt was still alive.

That event had changed their relationship forever. The fragility of life became all too real to Kitty. She had nursed him to health, administering tender care to his heart and body. For the first time, there had been no holding back or barriers between them and love and passion had flourished with abandon. The time frame fit. That fall he had been called to the border where serious trouble had been brewing, he'd been gone from Dodge for months. He had returned home, to find Kitty had left six weeks earlier on a buying trip back East. Suddenly the memories all fell into place, the pieces that had seemed too insignificant to recall, formed the finished puzzle. A letter was waiting for him on his return telling him she had visited her father, finding him ill, she felt she must stay with him until his health was restored. Kitty had remained with him for three months. He remembered the disappointment he'd felt reading her letter, the ache in his heart a forbearer of the pain he was living with now.

Tempting smells coming from the boarding house kitchen, told him he wasn't the only one awake. Ma was up brewing coffee and frying the breakfast bacon. His stomach rumbled involuntarily at the aroma.

Sleep was no longer an option; he grabbed his neatly folded pants from the chair by his bed and pulled them on. He slipped his arms in a blue work shirt, before moving to the mirror hanging over the dresser. "I do look like hell." he thought. He was too thin and the dark circles, which had had their origins during Kitty's illness, had widened in depth and dimension until they dominated his sad face. He ran his hand over his whisker stubbled chin. He'd left his shaving gear at the office. That was just as well, he figured, a bath and barber shave were in order unless he wanted to scare the kid.

He should check on her he reminded himself. He moved quietly to the connecting door and cracked it open enough to see the room's occupant. His heart lurched at the resemblance between the child and her mother. Matilda moved in her sleep to raise an arm over her head. It was that simple gesture so familiar to him that bonded his heart with hers forever.

**GS GS GS GS**

With boots in hand, Matt Dillon stepped softly down the back stairs of the boarding house in his stocking feet. The smell of fresh brewed coffee drew him like a magnet to the kitchen. He pulled a chair out from under the table, sat down and began to push his large feet in the scarred old boots.

Ma looked in his direction; she waited until he'd pulled his boots on before greeting him with an unsmiling, "Marshal."

He gave her a weary nod, and said with out preamble, "Morning Ma."

Pointing with an over-sized two-pronged fork, Ma directed, "Cups are on the table, coffee pot's here on the stove."

The lawman rose from the table and walked in a stiff legged gait to the stove. Ma's dainty hand painted cup was dwarfed in Dillon's large hand. He grabbed a quilted potholder to wrap around the handle of the gray enamelware coffee pot.

Ma gave him the once over. "Sleep well?" she asked and then replied to her own question before he had the chance. "From the looks of you, you don't need to answer that."

He raised his eyebrows, "I look that bad, huh?"

She smiled, "bad enough to know it'll take more than that dinky cup of coffee to perk you up." She handed him her bacon fork. "Here watch the bacon, mind you don't let it burn. I'll get you one of Mr. Smalley's mugs."

She moved away from the stove, grabbed a chair, and dragged it to the large cupboard on the far side of the room. With a small grunt she climbed up on the chair so she could reach the highest cupboard door. Even on tiptoe it was a stretch for the little woman. Dillon watched, "See here, Ma, you let me do that, before you fall."

"I've got the mug; you just keep your eye on that side meat. I've been doing for myself nearly 25 years; I don't need a man to start doing for me now." Her voice was stern but her kind eyes betrayed her gruffness. She lowered herself back to the floor. Taking a damp kitchen towel, she wiped off the dust, and then moved back to the stove to fill the large cup to the brim. Setting it on the table she instructed him to take a seat.

Ma took the strips of bacon from the pan and set them on a drainer, then cracked four large eggs to fry in the hot bacon fat. While the eggs cooked she took a basket of fresh biscuits and placed them on the table. When the eggs were done, she slid them on a plate, added the bacon and placed them in front of Dillon. "Someone needs to fatten you up some; you're all bone and gristle. Eat up now, we'll have a talk when you've finished."

He answered, "Yes ma'am," with his mouth full.

True to her word the older woman waited until Dillon had sopped up the last bit of yoke from the plate before grabbing the coffee pot and refilling his mug and then her own. Taking a moment she settled herself in the chair before beginning, "I want to tell you about that girl up there."

The tone of her voice warned him he was in for a sermon; he tried to brace himself as he answered, "Yes Ma'am."

"She needs a firm hand and direction. I don't suppose she's a bad child, but she's been left to her own devices for far too long. No telling where that kind of upbringing will lead her. My children are all raised, and it wasn't an easy chore, I'll tell you, what with Mr. Smalley up and dying at so ripe an age. Three young'uns and only one parent don't make for even odds. I have got to say, the odds don't favor you none either. That child of yours has been running her own show for a while now; she must have scared those Holy Sisters something fierce because it doesn't seem to me anyone's ever took her to task for her high jinks." Ma set her coffee cup down and folded her arms across the table. "You know she poured Tabasco sauce in my pot of beef stew? I just about lost a boarder over that. I asked her to help with the wash, and she dumped the basket of clean laundry in a mud puddle on purpose, then she coaxed a stray cat and her kittens in the house, and I can't tell you what a disaster that was, those wild animals made a mess in every room they were in. That was just for starters. Now, I have tried, but so far she hasn't listened to me. I suspect the only one she ever paid mind to was her Ma, and Lord knows she didn't see her often enough to make a lasting impression!"

Matt squirmed uneasily in his chair; he was not accustomed to having his private life an open book for local residents to comment on. Nor was he prepared for the responsibilities of fatherhood. Deciding his easiest line of defense against Ma's attack was complete surrender, Dillon asked, "What do you suggest I do Ma?"

Mrs. Smalley sat a little straighter in her chair, thrusting her small bosom forward, pleased he'd seen the sense in asking for her expertise. "You've got to let her know who the boss is. Don't let her bat those pretty blue eyes at you like her mama did, so you get all flustered and don't know what's what."

He leaned over the table defending himself, "Ma, that's not how it was."

"Oh that's how it was all right, and Kitty was the same about you. I reckon she'd a done most anything for you. Oh you were a fine pair, the two of you figured to make everyone believe you were just friends, for eighteen years. That was a pile of day old pish-posh. I saw through the act, I guess most folks did. But there wasn't anything we could say, and even if we did, I don't suppose you'd have listened none. For the longest time, you and she did what you wanted, had your way with each other, never giving proper thought to your consequences. Well, now your consequence has come home to roost Matt Dillon!" She grew thoughtful and added. "I guess in a way I can understand what Kitty did, her and all her talk about 'someday.'"

Dillon stood up, "Ma, if I had known about Matilda …"

Ma stood up too, and poked a crooked work worn finger at his chest. "I figure it shouldn't take a child to make a man do what's fitting Matt Dillon. I'm guessing Kitty figured the same thing. She wasn't the kind of woman to trap you with a baby for bait. Either you wanted to make things right for her or you didn't. She wasn't about to let the fact she had a baby hiding off in the wings come into play."

With his head held low, Matt winced at the sting of what the old lady was saying. Ma saw her words had hit the mark and she backed off, realizing she may have gone too far. "Well, that's all over and done with, and I'll not speak of it again to you. But let me tell you Mister, you've got obligations to tend to." Ma paused for a deep breath, "You and your little girl can stay here, and I'll do my best to help you, but I'm warning you now, I'll not be namie-paming her. I'll expect her to help out around here, speak with a respectful tongue, mind me and behave."

The big man's voice sounded almost meek, "I'll be grateful for your help, I guess Matilda does need some reining in."

"Humph, she needs to be halter broke first."

**GS GS GS GS**

Sister Mary Regina would plait Matilda's long curly hair every evening at the convent. It was something she did out of necessity, for if the child went to bed without the braiding her hair became a rat's nest of wild snarls and curls. The effort to comb the little girl's hair back into submission was like trying to tame the child herself, and the mild mannered nun had no problem acknowledging the effort would test the patience of a saint. Matilda had never mastered the art of braiding her own hair, and since leaving the convent her wild red mane, had become more and more unruly until finally Ma Smalley had taken a scissor to it, trimming the length to just above the child's shoulders. Even with the shorter length it remained a daily challenge.

That morning her hair stuck up at odd angles all over her head. Sitting on the bottom step of the back stairs, just around the corner from the kitchen, Matilda wrapped her arms around her nightgown-clad knees. She had listened to most of the conversation. A scowl drew her eyebrows together. Picking up the red haired doll lying beside her she vowed in a soundless whisper, "if that big dumb doody-head thinks he can rein me in, he's got another thing coming."


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

Sydney Elvira Tuttwell changed from a serviceable brown gabardine shirtwaist ensemble to a practical dark beige heavy twill gown; both so similar in style and color that only the wearer herself noticed the difference. Two or three strands of brown hair had escaped from the tight borders of her no nonsense coiffure and these she slicked back in place with Gutterman's Hair Wax. Her lips were dry after a day in the classroom and she added a fingertip of petroleum jelly to sooth the irritation. At thirty-five years of age she harbored no hidden desires to be attractive to the opposite sex. Clean, groomed, well rested and disciplined were the standards by which she presented her self. Miss Tuttwell had been a teacher in Dodge City for ten years; she served on the school board, did her duty as secretary of the Ladies Aid Society and was an active member of the Ford County Temperance League.

She was tall and she was thin. The casual observer noted no soft feminine lines. Her face and body appeared to be only hard angles made harder by an inner tension that kept neck straight and back unyielding. Why, even her lips were set in a straight thin line that curved neither up nor down. The fact, had she relaxed the tension some, her lips would have been full and lovely never dawned on her or anyone else who saw her.

From two rooms down the hallway she heard the commotion, which had now become routine. Someone was readying that child for supper. Sydney Elvira wondered briefly if it was the father, Matthew Dillon who was taking his obligations to heart. "It serves him right," she thought to herself. The girl was an unmanageable disgrace but no less than the man deserved. Miss Tuttwell picked up her wire framed glasses from the dresser and adjusted the fit in the mirror. The noise coming from the child's room became louder. She gave a slight nod of her head. Without a doubt Matilda was full payment for the Marshal's indiscretion and easy virtue. She frowned as another thought came in her head, this action so slight it changed little her facial contours. The girl should be in school, although the teacher acknowledged Matilda would be nothing less than a classroom disruption. Still as an educator Miss Tuttwell knew she was duty-bound to broach the subject with the parent.

Sydney Elvira took a white handkerchief; hand embroidered with her initials, and tucked it up her sleeve before leaving the bedroom. In the hall she was met by Taffy Boyd, who occupied the room next door, a head shorter than Sydney Elvira, Taffy was everything the teacher was not. Blond, buxomly and vivacious, with a talent for teasing and tantalizing every male she came in contact with. Taffy served as a hostess at the Long Branch . With dimples and a sweet Southern drawl she told acquaintances that she lived at Ma's because she didn't want to be taken for as one of, 'those kind of girls', although anyone who met her knew instantly just what kind of 'girl' she was.

With the knowledge that Matt Dillon was now a boarding house resident, Taffy had taken great pains with her looks. The Marshal was the hottest hunk of male Dodge City had to offer, even if he was carrying on and on with his heartache and misery routine. Having worked for Miss Kitty for several years, Taffy had a good idea of what had gone on between the two infamous lovers. Now that Kitty Russell was out of the way for good, Taffy had decided she'd like a piece of that action. The information that he was partial to blue was common knowledge among the saloon staff; it was almost a running joke among them. If Marshal and Miss Kitty were both wearing blue you could almost be certain sure it would be an early night for the pair of them. That bedroom door of Miss Kitty's would close tight and it would take hell and high water for either of them to emerge from its confines until they both had silly sated grins on their faces.

With that in mind, Taffy had chosen a soft silk and satin gown of periwinkle blue, the color a deeper hue of her own saucer shaped blue eyes. The neckline plunged to a brazen ruffled U, leaving plenty of visible access to her magnificent breasts. The result was so alluring that even a man of the cloth would have a hard time not imagining what was hidden from view. Her blond curls were gathered loosely in an upward lift. French perfume liberally scented her person. Rouge had been skillfully patted on to her smooth rounded cheekbones, and soft pouty lips, kohl darkened her lashes and brows. She was a painted woman, but the art so expertly applied that no man was immediately the wiser for the effects.

The two women met in the hall. Miss Tuttwell offered little more than a nod in the direction of the saloon hostess.

"Evening Sugar." Taffy greeted with a friendly smile, for she was an affable soul. Words like, 'sugar, honey and dearie' spiced her speech. She freely tossed the terms of endearment from her ruby colored lips like flower petals in a bridal parade. Taffy quickened her pace to keep in step with the long legged teacher who she saw as absolutely no threat to her plans for Matt Dillon. "The kid's at it again," Taffy continued. "Wonder how long it'll be before the Marshal sends her packing back to where she came from?"

Miss Tuttwell looked down her long straight nose at the perky harlot and one might have perceived the impression she'd have preferred to swat Taffy away as though she were nothing more than a pesky fly. Etiquette and breeding forced her to answer, "I would hope Mr. Dillon takes his responsibilities to heart and sees to the upbringing of the child himself."

Taffy giggled, "You cant be serious dearie, imagine big Matt Dillon tending to that little brat," she giggled again, "That man has a lot more important things to do with his free time!"

"Miss Boyd, what could be more important and satisfying in life than the proper rearing of one's progeny?"

"Huh?" She tossed her blond ringlets in confusion, before the light of understanding hit her brain, "Oh, progeny … his kid!"

"Exactly." Miss Tuttwell acknowledged.

Miss Taffy dimpled and sashayed her well-rounded figure in flirty fashion.

"Oh, I can think of a thing or two."

Sydney Elvira kept her eyes focused ahead of her, "I imagine you can." she said, somewhat under her breath.

Taffy, while not exceptionally perceptive did pick up a hint of mockery in the teacher's response. She replied not unkindly, "Don't knock it until you've tried it Sugar."


	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

The Dining room table was filled to capacity, each seat was taken and every serving bowl was full to the brim. At the far end sat Arnold Heitzer and to his right his wife Annie. They were a sweet old couple in their late sixties, who had left their productive farm in the hands of children and grandchildren and moved to the city to be closer to medical care, church and friends. They were both round of face and round of body, and they wore perpetually satisfied smiles on their faces.

Next to Annie sat Rudy Prendergast, a traveling salesman in ladies ready to wear dresses. He was a dapper fellow, in his plaid flannel suit, satin striped cravat and celluloid collar. His bay rum slicked hair was parted neatly in the middle and a waxed moustache decorated his upper lip. Despite his rather flamboyant appearance he was what most women considered to be a dreamboat. The drummer came equipped with a story for any given situation and provided much dinnertime entertainment for the boarding house patrons.

Until recently Mr. Prendergast had been the object of Taffy Boyd's affection. Miss Taffy sat next to him, her concentration; much to Rudy's dismay was directed at Dillon who occupied the master chair at the head of the table. Young Matilda sat around the corner of the table from her father and next to Miss Tuttwell. Ma finished the group sitting next to the teacher and on the left hand side of Arnold Heitzer.

Earlier, Matilda had been severely admonished by her father to help Ma set the table and do whatever other small tasks needed to be done for the meal preparation. She had accomplished her chores in a haphazard fashion; so that the diners had to rearrange and exchange with one another soupspoons, butter knives and dessert forks until they each came up with a complete place setting.

Ma Smalley was a good though unimaginative cook. Most meals consisted of soup followed by meat and potatoes. This evening was no different. Her guests never minded for if they wanted something fancier, there was always Delmonico's or the dinning room at the Dodge House to fill their culinary needs.

Conversation was pleasant around the table, after the usual complements to the cook; the talk went from daily activities to upcoming events, family and friends. Rudy Prendergast told of an amusing incident that had happened to him in Spearville, indicating, (surely for Taffy's behalf) that the comely daughter of an area merchant had found him more than attractive. Rudy was rewarded with a sidelong glance and a coquettish pucker from the curvy saloon hostess.

Annie Heitzer took a helping of potatoes and asked of the teacher, "How is our Grandson Herbie doing with his reading Miss Tuttwell?"

"He's coming along Mrs. Heitzer, although his penmanship is deplorable. He needs to practice."

"It's hard to keep a seven year old still long enough to practice." The Grandmother said, she looked to Matilda and smiled. 'Why, I think little Herbie must be just about your age child. Have you met him yet in school? Herbie Heitzer?"

"I don't go to school." Matilda replied.

This was just the opening Miss Tuttwell had been hoping for; she turned to the Marshal. "I've been meaning to speak with you about that Mr. Dillon. Matilda has been in Dodge for several weeks, and certainly she should be in school. Education at her age is most important."

The little girl leaned forward, folded her arms across her chest and raised her chin in defiance, "I don't wanna go to school." Matilda declared. "I hate school."

Matt looked uncomfortable, "No Matilda," he said trying to be firm and aware his patience was wearing thin, "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do." She replied. Kicking him under the table with her swinging legs.

He winced, and glared at her before turning back to Miss Tuttwell and asking with a small sense of retribution, "Is tomorrow too soon?"

"At this point, time is of the essence Mr. Dillon. There are less than six weeks left to this year's term, it is important to evaluate the girl for placement in next fall's classes."

She turned to Kitty Russell's daughter, "Do you read and write Matilda and can you work sums?"

"Of course I can, I'm not a doodyhead you know."

"Matilda!" Matt said in a threatening voice.

"Yes, well, we shall evaluate what you can and cannot do tomorrow." Miss Tuttwell replied as she reached for the potato bowl, but Matilda grabbed the bowl away from her and hurriedly dumped the last spoonful on to her own plate.

Miss Tuttwell's face hardened considerably. Eyeing the child derisively, she spoke to the father, "I want you to know Mr. Dillon, I do not tolerate any form of insolence in my classroom; all offenders are severely punished."

Ma stood up, "I've got more potatoes in the kitchen Miss Tuttwell, let me go get them for you."

Matilda, still holding the potato bowl, smiled as sweetly as any child could, "That's okay Ma, I'll go get them. I'm the one who took the last spoonful, so its only right that fill up the bowl." Eyebrows around the table raised in unison.

"Thank you child." Ma said as the unified gaze of the table followed Matilda through the swinging door into the kitchen. When more than several minutes had passed Ma half rose from the table calling, "Do you need help in there Matilda?"

"No ma'am," came a sugar coated reply from the other room, and with that the swinging door connecting the kitchen to the dining room again opened and in came the little girl carrying the bowl of potatoes. No one seated around Ma Smalley's dining room table could be exactly sure what happened next, there was no immediate proof that any act on Matilda's part was premeditated; just the same it was mighty suspicious the way it played out. "Here you go teacher." She said, and as the words left her mouth, she seemed to trip on a speck of dust littering the carpet, throwing her small body off balance and sending the bowl flying topsy-turvy in the air so that the contents rained on the head of Miss Tuttwell while the actual vessel landed on the floor behind her with a shattering crash.

There were shrieks from the teacher and Ma, and giggles from Taffy and Rudy, Mr. and Mrs. Heitzer just sat there with their mouths open and poor Matt Dillon wasn't sure what to do for a career in law enforcement had proved ill preparation for fatherhood.

However, innocent until proven guilty didn't come into play to his way of thinking and he grabbed the little girl and gave her a shake. "You hold it right there." he ordered in his official Marshal's voice used specifically for dealing with bank robbers and drunken cowhands.

"It was an accident." She defended meekly. "I tripped."

"You apologize Miss Tuttwell. Then you help Ma clean up this mess."

Ma looked up from floor where she was already at work, "Good heavens Marshal, she didn't do it on purpose and you can't have her clean up broken glass, she's just a little girl."

Miss Tuttwell sat spine unbending, blinking away the runny potatoes as they dripped down her face. By their watered down consistency, it was obvious to the teacher the spuds had been tampered with, a fact that hadn't yet occurred to the rest of the assemblage.

"Matilda, go to the kitchen and bring me a towel please." She requested. Happy to get away from her father's angry clutches Matilda obeyed. The teacher turned to Ma, who was now trying to wipe away the mess from the teacher with a napkin. "Mrs. Smaley are your potatoes usually so runny?"

Ma stopped what she was doing, and frowned. Dillon scowled, "I knew she was guilty." He declared. "Miss Tuttwell, I'm sorry, I guarantee she'll be punished."

Sydney Elvira Tuttwell, put up a hand, "I'll take care of this." Raising her voice loud enough to be heard in the kitchen, the teacher said, "Miss Matilda, are you coming with that towel."

It was several slow moments later that the little girl returned. She moved toward Miss Tuttwell in exaggeratedly unhurried steps. "Here." She said thrusting forward an embroidered dish towel.

"Thank you." Miss Tuttwell replied as she reached for her glass of water. Matilda still holding out the towel said impatiently, "Well, aren't you going to take it?"

Sydney smiled as she raised her hand and poured the contents of her glass of water over the child's head, "No, I think you are going to need it more than I."

The dining room erupted in sniggering applause as the little girl got back some of what was coming to her. Matilda looked around the room and saw everyone laughing at her including her own father. "I hate you." She said, "I hate you all." She turned to run from the room, but Matt Dillon grabbed her arm, spinning her to his side.

"You're going to have to learn Matilda, don't dish it out if you can't take it."She stared back at him with venom spewing from her eyes, "I hate you most of all." She swung her leg back and kicked him in the shin with all her strength.

"Ouch." He hollered in surprise, letting her go to rub the injury. That moment was all it took for Matilda to dart out of his reach and out of the room. She had no safe haven in that house that wasn't a home, but the comfort of her room and the embrace of her doll. They heard her little feet scamper up the back stairs.

Matt made a move to rise. "Let her go." Mrs. Heitzer said from across the table. "She's got to work some things out herself."


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

In her room, Matilda stood against the closed door with her arms folded across her chest; water dripping from her soggy curls merged with tears and snot on her blotchy red face. Impotent rage at life burned within her. She stomped her feet in angry frustration. When she'd calmed herself some, she went to the dresser and took Miss Kitty from her resting place. She held the doll close, feeling the softness of the hair and smelling the faint aroma of sweet sachet. "Mama." She said tenderly. However, it was in the saying of the word that the rage was unleashed. "Mama." Mama, who had never loved her enough to stay, enough to give her a real home - Mama, who always made big promises about "someday". Mama, who had left her, and never come back. Like a volcano working up steam and needing release, the rage boiled over. "I hate you! I hate you Miss Kitty!"

With all her might she fired the beloved doll at the wall. It made a satisfying smack as it collided head-on with Ma Smaley's rose-vine wallpaper. Matilda stood still for a moment relishing vengeance. Then the horror of what she'd done struck her like a physical blow. She ran to Miss Kitty, falling to her knees to gather the doll up in her arms to hold to her heart. She rocked back and forth crying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," sobbing the words over and over again. She couldn't bear to look at the injuries she'd inflicted knowing only that they must be grave because of the horrible sound the crash had made.

**GS GS GS GS**

Matt Dillon knocked on Matilda's door thirty minutes later. When there was no answer he opened it and went in. He saw his daughter curled up in the corner fast asleep. He walked closer and stood watching her. The child's cheeks were still flushed and the tears hadn't dried from her eyes for tiny droplets still clung to her pale lashes. The big man wanted nothing more in life at that moment than to gather her close to him. He knew Matilda would never stand for that. So instead, he reached out a large hand and cupped it around her tiny shoulder. "Matilda?" he whispered.

She stirred, but not much. He reached a hand under her legs and moved the other around her back and picked her up. She was so light, so tiny and it came to him that the force of her personality made her seem much larger than she really was. He carried her to the bed and laid her down. Letting her sleep seemed more important than getting her in bedclothes, so he merely slipped off her shoes and pulled the downy comforter over her. He had turned to leave when her sleepy voice stopped him. "Miss Kitty " she said, "I want Miss Kitty."

He walked back to her, His words came out gruffer than he'd intended. "She's gone, remember?"

Matilda stretched out her hand, "My dolly, Miss Kitty."

"Oh," he said, with an involuntary sigh. He gave the twilight darkening room a quick scan and saw the doll lying in a heap near the corner Matilda had been sleeping in. He moved back and bent down to retrieve the toy. He turned the doll over in his hand and noticed a thin crack running across the delicate porcelain cheek falling just below a beauty mark. Dillon looked closer, catching the drift of a familiar scent and recognizing the doll's soft red hair as that of her namesake. For a moment his fingers tightened their grip before he placed the broken toy in the little girl's arms.

**GS GS GS GS**

It was a warm night. The room was stuffy. Sydney Elvira Tuttwell sat up in bed. Her mind was racing and she was hot and uncomfortable. Her rigid schedule demanded she get eight hours of sleep every night, it was a rare occasion when she didn't. Her practical white muslin-sleeping gown seemed heavy on her skin. Sweat made it stick to her back. Her hair was still damp too, for Ma had helped her wash out the mashed potatoes shortly after supper. The scent of the soap still clung to the moist locks. Taffy Boyd had been kind enough to lend her a bar of Cashmere Bouquet when Sydney Elvira had found her own supply empty. The smell was flowery and sweet, completely different from the pine tar soap that usually fragranced her hair. She pulled her thick mane away from her face with spread fingers, noticing that it felt softer to the touch than it usually did. Her mind flashed to Matt Dillon and his hell child daughter. No wonder she couldn't settle down she told herself. She had a whole day of trying to educate that horrible young girl to look forward to. Finally deciding a little fresh air might calm mind and body enough to induce sleep, she got up and opened the window. She moved the room's one chair so that it was situated in front of the breeze and sat down.

Moonbeams and starlight illuminated the night. For a moment she sat there looking out on Ma's garden, soaking in the nocturnal music. It was as she watched out the window that she saw Marshal Dillon walking slowly down the garden path. He seemed weighed down and deep in thought and she realized the burden of sorrow still hung heavy upon him. Compassion welled within her and she was filled with a desire to ease his bereavement.

She heard the window go up in the room next door to her, Taffy must be hot tonight too she thought. It wasn't more than a ten count before she heard Taffy's door open and close and the sound of hurried footsteps reverberating down the hall. And then, there was Taffy running down the path to Matt Dillon. Whether it was an inspiration born of Matilda's actions or a complete accident only Taffy knew, but three steps in front of the Marshal, she tripped falling right in the lawman's arms. That was enough for Sydney Elvira. She closed the window and went back to bed, finding sleep even more difficult for now she had another image to contend with.


	8. Chapter 8

**eight**

Marshall Matthew Dillon sat at the vanity table with Matilda trapped between his legs. He had tied the damn bow at the back of her dress five different times, with each effort the ribbons hung at odd angles - never even and never horizontal. Now, the freshly starched crispness was gone and the bow hung limp, wrinkled and lopsided. He finally gave up, realizing his big fingers were never meant for such delicate work - the image of Kitty's long slender hands slipped by his mind's eyes. Once again, he swallowed his grief. Matilda squirmed, "Hold it," he ordered. Picking up the hairbrush he tried to tame her wild red curls. "Ou-wee, ou-wee, ou-wee!" she cried, and this time Matilda did wriggle out of his hold. She stood just out of arms reach. He glowered at her before giving a visual once over and deciding that at least the girl was presentable. He moved to get up and caught sight of his own reflection in the oval mirror. The dark shadows around his eyes had deepened in degree, evidence of another sleepless night. He blinked back fatigue and melancholy.

In the boarding house kitchen, father and daughter made quick work of Ma Smalley's flapjack breakfast and then headed down Front Street to the school on the edge of town. Matilda's lack of enthusiasm was evident and for the most part Matt had to drag her unwillingly down the dusty road.

The schoolyard was full and noisy, and somewhat intimidating to both man and girl, although neither one would have admitted to the fact. The rhythmic squeak of the merry-go-round, the cadenced clank of swing chains and the alternating ka-thunk of the teeter totters mingled with squeals, giggles and laughter of those children eager to make use of every last minute of play time before their classes began. Near the main door the more industrious children were already lining up for the bell. Matt and Matilda moved ahead of the column. "Hey, no butting in!" came a chorus of cries followed by the fifth graders refrain of, "No cuts, monkey butts." The lawman ignored the adolescent antagonism and plowed forward. He pushed open the double doors and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkened interior. The schoolhouse smelled of chalk and floor wax. He had been in the four-room brick building on an annual basis, taking a morning out of his schedule once a year to speak to the students about duty and the law. He knew the 1st-4th grade classroom was the second door on the left of the long center hall.

The door was open and Miss Tuttwell, in dark brown dress, and severely styled hair was sitting at her desk preparing for the morning. She looked up over her wire-framed glasses and bid the Marshal and Miss Matilda to enter. "Mr. Dillon, you're late. You should have allowed for more time. My students will be filing in shortly."

Dillon scowled, "We got here before the bell rang."

The teacher let go an impatient sigh, "Sir, there is paperwork to do before we can consider your daughter registered for classes." She looked towards Matilda, "You may sit down at the first desk, second row." To Dillon she motioned to a small chair to the left of her desk. "I am not accustomed to carrying on a conversation with someone who is towering over my head. You will kindly show your daughter a proper example of manners and take a seat so we may proceed."

'_What an old battle ax_.' He thought to himself, as he dutifully lowered himself down and down until he made contact with the Fourth Grade size chair. His knees were on a level with his chest. Miss Tuttwell pulled out a ledger book, inked her pen and turned to Dillon with a battery of questions he was ill equipped to answer.

"Child's birth place?"

"Um … ahhh, New Orleans ."

"Christian name?""Ahhh, Matilda."

"Birth date?"

He hesitated and realized he had no idea of the exact month and date. "Birth date Mr. Dillon, what is the date of your daughter's birth?"

He shook his head drawing a blank. Matilda rolled her eyes. She stood up next to her desk and announced in a loud clear voice, "My name is Matilda Kathleen Russell Dillon," She inhaled deeply, "I was born on September 4th, 1872 at the Sisters of Devine Charity Convent in New Orleans, Louisiana. My mother was Kathleen Russell. She's dead. This big dumb doodyhead is my father."

His teeth set on edge, but he said nothing, promising himself a long talk with the kid regarding her use of the term doodyhead.

Sydney Tuttwell raised an eyebrow, "Thank you Matilda." To Matt she said,

"There is a seventy-five cent registration fee."

He reached in his vest pocket and pulled out some change. "Kinda steep for six weeks of class."

"Mr. Dillon one can not put a price on quality education."

Matt grumbled, "Seems to me you just did."

Outside the bell had sounded and children began marching into the room. Miss Tuttwell put her hands on her desk and pushed herself up. "I will keep you abreast of Matilda's progress." Matt opened his mouth to answer but Sydney cut in, "You are dismissed."

The sour look froze on his features. With some effort, Dillon unfurled himself from the diminutive chair. He turned to leave but glanced back at the little girl. Her eyes had grown huge, and he thought he detected panic in her face. The urge to protect her came over him, but he reckoned any move he made to her would be rebuked. So he merely gave her a solemn nod of his head and left her there.


	9. Chapter 9

**nine**

His stride was swift and unfaltering. He kept his gaze straight ahead, even though years as a lawman had trained him otherwise. On the right side of the road was the cemetery. A glance in that direction would put him in view of her grave. Anger stirred, he didn't want to think about Kitty, it was bad enough dreams of her haunted his nights without having her take full possession of his days too.

He was one hundred yards from his office when he noticed a minor assembly of townsmen had gathered; Burke, Halligan, Howie the clerk at the Dodge House, Barney from the telegraph office, the bank president Mr. Bodkin, and even Hank the stable man. With their ears all but plastered to the door they stood as one in intense concentration. They were so absorbed in whatever was going on that they didn't notice Dillon walking up behind them. The closer he got the clearer the explanation for their presence became. Festus and Doc, inside the office, were at it again. Five feet away, he heard Festus say loud and clear, "Matthew ain't a gonna court neither one of 'em. Miss Lettie Crump ain't got the sense of a pea hen, and Myrtle's old enough to marry Me-thuselah! Or you."

Heat worked its way up Dillon's neck, his ears burned, but his voice was gruff and gave no indication of the embarrassment he was feeling, "All right break it up." The men gave Matt a guilty look and all but tripped over themselves as each headed in a different direction.

He watched them flee and then opened the door and stared hard at his friends. "You two were drawing quite a crowd out there, you know."

"Matt, we were just talking about you." Doc began.

"I wish you wouldn't" Dillon answered quickly. "Look … just drop me from any future topics of discussion."

"Well, that ain't gonna happen. Thing is, me and ol' Doc was wondering if you ever got around to reading the rest of that there letter Miss Kitty done wrote you."

He thought he'd steeled himself from pain, but a dagger in his heart would have hurt just the same as the mention of her name, his face flashed the ache. No quick words of answer came to his mind, so he ignored Hagen 's question. He turned to Adams , "Don't you have something important to do, some doctoring to tend to?" And to Festus he asked tersely, "and what about that paperwork I told you to take out to Clarence Hart's place?"

Festus saw through Dillon's bravado, the hill-man's voice was tender in response, "Matthew, there ain't nothing so important as being with a friend when he needs you."

"I don't need you." Matt replied harshly even as he recalled once he had needed someone and she had let him down. Unconsciously, he pledged never to 'need' anyone again.

Adams tried his luck, "She had some things to say to you."

Dillon's response was angry, "I don't give a damn. Fact is if she were here right now, I'd more than likely wring her pretty neck."

Doc put a hand on Matt's arm, "I know you're bitter, but she thought she was doing what was best for you."

He pulled away, "I don't have time for this. I've got work to do."

The old man hesitated, "Matt, just read the letter …"

The tether on his self control snapped, "Get out, both of you."

His friends hung back for a moment before they exchanged glances and then turned away, to shuffle, heads down, out of the office.

Dillon stared at the closed door until he heard their footsteps on the boardwalk. He was shaking and he wasn't sure if it was anger or grief that made him so unsteady. He turned and poured himself a cup of coffee to calm his nerves and then sat down at his desk. There was a pile of mail and he began the task of sorting through it. The attempt was half-hearted at best. For the thought of Kitty's letter, and that connection with her overwhelmed his intentions. He pulled open his desk drawer and extracted the letter from its resting place.

He removed the folded pages from the envelope, laying them against his desk to flatten out the creases. For a beat his eyes locked on the written words but they failed to come in focus. Moisture blocked his vision. He was not a man given to swearing with out extreme provocation. The malediction escaped from his thoughts to become a verbal condemnation, "Damn you, damn you to hell for what you did." In anger, he got up from his desk with her letter in hand, opened the stove door and prepared to destroy her last wishes. The corner of the pages actually caught fire before he changed his mind. He shook out the flames and then moved back to his desk, lowering his large frame to rest on the desktop.

He closed his eyes and took a gulp of air, "Okay Kitty, I'll listen, but it better be good."

_My dear Matt,_

_If you are reading this, it must mean I am dead. Let me assure you I am quite healthy at this writing and cannot foresee any event, which might lead to my demise. _

_Please do not mourn my passing, I have had a wonderful life, filled with love and adventure and true happiness. For that I have you to thank, sharing these years with you has made all the difference. I must confess, and this is very difficult to do, and I pray you will be able to understand, but we share more than years. _

_In September of 1872, I gave birth to a little girl. You were busy chasing the bad guys, and when you were home you didn't even notice the changes taking place in my body. I never thought I'd be able to fool you. When I said I had to take care of my father, I thought for sure you would come to New Orleans and see for yourself what was going on. I even imagined what I'd say to you as I showed you our baby. But that didn't happen and I came to understand as long as the badge had a hold of you, you could never be mine and would never be ready to know our child. _

_I left our daughter, Matilda, in the care of the Sisters of Devine Charity, with orders that she should be sent to you in Dodge City in the event of my death. _

_I have tried to spend as much time as possible with her without betraying her existence to you. I have always felt that our someday would come and we would finally be a family. Now, with this letter in your hands it appears that will not happen. _

_Matt, I have made this promise to Matilda, ever since she was a baby. Now it is up to you to make it happen. I have given this a lot of thought, and while I don't relish the idea of you with another woman, for Matilda's sake you must marry, and marry quickly._

_I have listed several possibilities taking into consideration characteristics, which you might find compatible as well as someone who will be a good and kind mother to Matilda._

_Leticia Crump - She's had a crush on you since she was in pigtails. I know she's still young and a bit on the flighty side, but she's helped raise those seven younger brothers and sisters. I'm sure she would make a good mother to Matilda._

_Myrtle McGoo - She's a widow, so the two of you would have something in common, both mourning the passing of someone you love. She would give you both a warm and loving home. She has two grown daughters so she comes with experience. _

_Taffy Boyd - I suppose physically she is the most like me and that might bring you comfort. She hasn't spent any time with children that I know of, but then I didn't know the first thing about being a mother before Matilda._

_Sydney Tuttwell - She's intelligent, independent and as a schoolteacher she understands children._

_Susan Barts - Don't deny it, I know you were always attracted to her. Frankly I don' t know what kind of mother she'd make, I suppose it would depend on whether she herself has grown up. However, that ranch of hers would be a pleasant place to raise a child._

_These are just suggestions, you make the decision, but I want you to marry within four months of my passing. I won't take no for an answer. You may have denied me the right to be your wife, but you are not going to deny our daughter the right to a happy and complete family._

_Please do not forget that I have loved you with all my heart._

_Kitty_

He stared at the paper in shock with his mouth agape. She couldn't have been serious. The idea was ridiculous. This whole situation was crazy and he couldn't believe he was in the middle of it. Kitty had lied to him, deceived him and kept their child locked up in little better than an orphanage until the kid was an unmanageable brat who obviously hated him. Now, he was expected to deal with the product of that upbringing. He had half a mind to pack up Matilda and her belongings and send her back to the nuns in New Orleans . For the second time that day Matt Dillon thought seriously about setting fire to Kitty Russell's letter. He got up and started pacing back and forth. However, as he did a niggling guilt rose slowly to the surface. Responsibility, duty and obligation came in to view and he saw for the first time he was not with out blame.


	10. Chapter 10

**ten**

The classroom held forty desks, with four rows of ten each. The wrought iron frames were mounted piggyback style one on another. Scrollwork decorated the sides and on the back of each chair was stated the manufacturer and a grade number. Each row progressed in size as theoretically each student advanced in years, however that was not always the case in a classroom such as this. On occasion a first grader exceeded the scholastic development of second or third grade. Conversely, there were times when an older child was forced to occupy a chair too small for him or her because the child had failed to progress academically. On a whole however, the children were arranged by age and grade. Thus Matilda Dillon was given a chair in the second grade row, which was stamped, "Eclipse #2."

She had watched her father leave with a sinking heart, hoping beyond hope that he would take pity and rescue her from Miss Tuttwell and the Ford County Joint District School System.

As she watched Dillon's big frame duck out the door, her new classmates made their way to their desks to the usual preamble of boot scuffle, heel scrapes and the last remnants of playground good humor. A plump, pretty little girl moved into the chair across the aisle from Matilda in the third grade row. She had long flowing raven black hair pulled back and held in place by a huge pink satin ribbon. Her eyes were dark and luminous, fringed by long thick lashes. Her mouth was dainty and sweet, like a rosebud. The dress she wore was an elaborate costume of polished cotton and lace in the same hue as the ribbon. Her shoes were black kid and showed very little wear and the white stockings on her legs were pure silk. The child gave a sidelong glance across the aisle but before eye contact could be made, a plain little girl with mousy hair, wearing humble homespun appeared before the pink-ribboned beauty. Her attention caught, Matilda listened as the girls transacted business.

"Where is the penny you owe me?" Pink Ribbon asked, her voice much harsher than her appearance.

Humble Homespun shook her head. She shuffled her thin weight from one foot to the other. "I ain't got it, but my mama made cookies and you can have one."

"How many did she give you?" Pink Ribbon wanted to know.

Humble Homespun's features dropped as she replied softly, "two."

"I'll take them both, 'interest' don't you know." she pulled out a small ledger book from inside her desk and made a notation next to Homespun's name. "If you don't have the penny by tomorrow it will cost you three cookies."

Homespun opened the latch on her lunch bucket and handed over the home baked "interest'. Matilda couldn't help but notice what was left in the bucket was meager fare and her heart went out to the plain little girl.

**GS GS GS GS**

The teacher called the class to order using a sharp rap to her desk with a yardstick, "Attention scholars! Let us bow our heads and pray for God's blessings that we may grow strong of soul and wise of heart with today's lessons." The prayer lasted over a minute, and Matilda having been raised in a convent had long ago learned to tune out boring devotions and tune into what ever was going on around her. With her head bowed her eyes wandered. She noticed Pink Ribbon followed a similar creed. This time eye contact was made and like two terriers meeting in a park both knew fur was bound to fly. When the 'amen' had finally been sounded, Miss Tuttwell turned to address Kitty Russell's wild haired daughter, "Matilda you will come stand by my desk please." The teacher directed.

Reluctantly, Matilda slid out of the chair and walked up to Miss Tuttwell. "Boys and girls, this is Matilda. She is a new student. I would like to ask each of you welcome her to our school."

"Yes Miss Tuttwell." The children replied rising from their chairs with movements that amounted to mechanical precision and filing one by one past Matilda to shake her hand with humorless gravity. They each offered the same well-rehearsed salutation, the only difference being the insertion of the appropriate name of the welcomer. "My name is ... I am most pleased to meet you."

Matilda had a flashback to her days at the convent, she remembered an elderly nun had died and at the prompting of an older girl, she had snuck into the chapel and witnessed the Sisters performing a similar ceremony with the occupant of the coffin. Instead of shaking hands the Ladies of Holy Orders made the Sign of the Cross. Matilda would have considered trading places with the corpse had it been an option at that moment.

Pink Ribbon was the only child to offer a variation on the practiced theme, after making sure Miss Tuttwell was otherwise occupied, the girl announced with pomp, "I AM Angel Louise Bodkin, my Papa is President of the School Board and President of the Dodge City Ranchers and Merchants Bank and we have more money than anyone." The hair on the back of Matilda's neck stood on end. She felt an instinctive dislike for the girl and an overwhelming desire to let her know it. Therefore, when Angel offered her pretty plump hand Matilda took it with a vice like grip, that showed surprising strength for one so small.

"Ouuu-ch! Miss Tuttwell, Miss Tuttwell … Matilda squeezed my hand hard on purpose." Angel whined loudly.

The teacher had been writing arithmetic problems on the black board but she turned to scrutinize the saloonkeeper's child, "Matilda … you are to behave as a lady in this classroom."

"Thank you Miss Tuttwell." Angel said, as she gave Matilda a self-satisfied smirk.

The morning proceeded on course. It was during a history lesson dealing with the war of 1812, that Angel raised her hand and announced, "Miss Tuttwell, Miss Tuttwell! Herbie Heitzer's picking his nose and eating it!"

Sydney Tuttwell looked at the little boy sitting behind Matilda. Herbie had a history of nose related offenses. "Herbert, we've gone through this before, please use your handkerchief."

"Yes'm, I forgot my hanky, but I wasn't doing what she said, I just had a itch."

"Be that as it young man, let this be a reminder to everyone to please bring a clean handkerchief to school everyday."

With that matter put to rest, Miss Tuttwell moved on to Arithmetic. She turned to the problems she had written on the chalkboard and asked several of the older students to come to the front of the class to solve them while the first and second graders watched. Matilda liked numbers, they made sense to her, not like words which could have different meanings just by the way someone said them or arranged the letters. She didn't understand words at all. Numbers were exact and dependable. Miss Tuttwell then wrote a difficult subtraction problem on the board. Student after student in the third and fourth grades failed to find the correct answer to the problem. Across the aisle from her, Angel Bodkin waved her hand wildly, nearly jumping off her seat as she pleaded. "Oh pick me Miss Tuttwell, pick me.

The teacher finally acquiesced, "Angel Louise Bodkin, please solve the problem." Angel strutted to the front of the class, tossing her hair as she moved. At the blackboard, she made a great show out of ciphering, turning the exhibition into something almost theatrical in nature, despite her performance she failed to solve the computation. Matilda felt some pleasure in seeing her new arch-nemesis fall short. Sydney Tuttwell noticed the insolent grin on Matilda's face and said, "Do you think you can do better Miss Dillon?"

"Who me?" Matilda asked in wide-eyed innocence. "I'm just a little second grader."

"Yes, Matilda you are, please step to the blackboard. Angel Louise, kindly hand Matilda the chalk."

The daughter of Matt Dillon held out her hand, but Angel, with a devilish sneer dimpling her cherub like cheeks, dropped the chalk just to the left of Matilda's outstretched fingers. The white stick shattered into small pieces. Matilda fell to the floor to pick up the largest chunks. Angel's allies tittered at the entertainment.

Matilda didn't appreciate being laughed at. To show her displeasure she stood up and gave Angel the same look her father had used on hardened criminals for the past 20 years.

The teacher cleared her throat, "Try to solve the problem." Miss Tuttwell prompted. Matilda rewarded the teacher with a carbon copy of the stare Angel had received. Despite that, she moved to the black board and without a moment's hesitation, wrote down the answer with the largest fragment of the shattered stick of chalk.

Sydney Tuttwell felt a moment's worth of shock before she reminded herself about Kitty Russell. She had been acquainted with the saloon owner and on several occasions both women were involved in the same community events. There was no doubt the shrewd businesswoman had been highly intelligent. Sydney recalled one occasion when the committee was working out a budget for an upcoming fund raiser, Miss Russell had added multiple figures in her head faster than Miss Tuttwell had with pencil and paper. Matilda must have inherited her mother's fine mathematical mind. The teacher stared pointedly at Angel Louise; "It looks like you will have a little competition for the arithmetic medal this year." Miss Tuttwell turned to her first graders. "Samuel Grimmick, please come to the black board."

Matilda returned to her seat. With the teacher occupied teaching Sammy and his peers, the concept of subtracting pennies from a dollar, Angel Louise felt emboldened to gibe in a soft sing song melody, "Tillie is a smarty pants, Tillie is a farty pants." The little boy to the back of Angel joined in, and soon half the class was hissing the same rude tune.

Miss Tuttwell turned around and grabbed her yardstick, smacking it across her desk to get the attention of her students, "That will be enough children unless you prefer to spend recess inside working sums." Of course no one did and the taunting ceased. The teacher waited a few moments standing at the front of the class with a countenance warning of dire consequences should any student fail to heed her orders. Finally she elevated her thick eyebrows slightly and said, "Scholars stand." The children stood up next to their desks. "Scholars about face." The children turned to face the door at the rear of the class. "In honor of Matilda's fine mathematical effort, the order for recess exit will be as follows, Grade two, Grade one, Grade four and finally Grade three."

The filing out was orderly, not a peep was made until they crossed over the schoolhouse threshold. Then whoops and war cries equal to a marauding band of renegades erupted. Set free for twenty minutes, children dashed for the modest playground equipment eager to capture a swing or prime spot on the merry go round for the length of their liberation.

Matilda however stood back in the shadows of the doorway, tucked behind one of the twin pillars that bracketed the front door until Angel Louise skipped by. As she did, Matilda grabbed for the pretty satin ribbon holding Angel's hair in place. "Ouch" the dark haired girl squealed. "Let go!" She turned around expecting to see one of the legions of admirers who were always vying for her attention. She was startled and suddenly a little frightened to see Matilda glaring at her. "Listen you, don't go calling me names. I don't like it."

Angel sucked in her fear, she wasn't going to let a little second grader intimidate her, especially when she was privileged to information she'd heard her parents talking about the evening before. The Bodkin girl was four inches taller and 20 pounds heavier than Matilda and she drew her frame to a dominating stance. "You can't tell me what to do. My Mama told my Papa that your father and mother were fornicators."

"There you go with that name calling again, and it's not true. My father is a Dillon and my mama's name was a Russell."

By this point they had drawn a crowd of spectators, Angel Louise searched for nerve, it would never do for her social standing in class to be put down by an upstart. She bit at the side of her lip, unsure of exactly what she was accusing Matilda's parentage of, so she was hesitant to respond to the second grader's statement and then a sort of worldly knowledge came to her. She exclaimed, "That's it! They had different last names, they weren't married, and folks are supposed to be married when they have babies, everybody knows that!"

Some of the swarm of kids nodded and even the youngest observer voiced agreement, "Yup, every one knows that!"Indignant anger welled up in Matilda, and she could think of nothing else to do but shove Angel. It was a push hard enough to send the older child to the ground. It is unfortunate that it was just then the teacher looked out the window.

By the time Sydney Tuttwell had made her way to the front entrance, an all out brawl was taking place between the defenders of Angel Louise Bodkin and those children delighted to see the tyranny of the banker's daughter put to a test.

_FYI - "The Dodge City School had an enrollment of 284 pupils for December, 1882. The number of persons of school age in the district was 450. Five teachers are employed; the principal, John Groendyke, has $65 per month; the four female teachers have an average of $41 per month. The school building is a neat, roomy structure in the southwest part of the city, built of brick.- William G. Cutler's History of the State of Kansas was first published in 1883 by A. T. Andreas, Chicago , IL._

_(FYI- The Pledge of Allegiance was not written until 1892)_


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven**

The aroma of brewing coffee emanated from a battered blue enamel pot, which rested on a small wood stove. The scent mixed with the odor of quinine and carbolic giving the physician's office a unique, yet strangely comforting smell.

Doc Adams sat at his desk, a medical journal was opened in front of him but the text went unread. His thoughts were for Matt Dillon sitting alone with Kitty's letter back at the Marshal's office. After all of these years he reckoned he knew his old friend as well as he knew every word and nuance of the Oath of Hippocrates.

Shortly after he sat down he was rewarded by the sound of heavy tread against the open wooden staircase leading to his office. There was a perfunctory knock before the door opened and Dillon entered announcing, "Doc, I need to talk."

The old man nodded to the confessor chair beside his desk. "I've got fresh coffee on the stove, sit down and I'll get you a cup."

"I didn't come here for coffee." Dillon protested glumly, but nevertheless, he took the cup when it was offered.

"You read the rest of Kitty's letter?" Adams asked, slowly easing his old bones back into his seat. There was a squeak as the chair adjusted to his weight.

"I read it." Dillon admitted.

"And …" Doc prompted. When Matt didn't respond, he voiced the question, "Are you going to do what Kitty wanted?"

Dillon took a sip of coffee burning his tongue in the process. He ignored the pain. Leaning forward, he earnestly asked, "What do you think?"

The doctor ran a hand across his face, stalling for a moment's worth of time. He knew what he had to say was not what his friend wanted to hear, "I think for a lot of years you've used the excuse of a higher calling to justify your commitment to that badge you wear. But, Matt, there's no higher calling than what you're faced with right now. Like Kitty said, that little girl deserves a real family. You owe it to her and to her mother."

Without hesitation, Matt responded bitterly, "I owe Kitty nothing - not after she lied to me for eight years."

"That's a matter of opinion." Adams responded.

Dillon stared at his boots. Memories flashed in front of him, for the length of a heartbeat, he could hear the sound of her voice and the smell the sweet scent of her fragrance. His voice was utterly sad and honest, "What kind of marriage would it be?" He was quiet, not waiting for Doc to answer but rather waiting for his own mettle to give him the strength to say what both men believed in their souls, "It wouldn't be a real marriage. I could never feel that way about a woman again."

Adams reached out and laid a gentle hand on the lawman's arm. "From what I've observed over the years, some of the most successful unions have had their start as marriages of convenience. Two people working toward a common goal could produce a more solid footing, than a pair of lovesick fools."

Matt looked up, squinting in Doc's face, "Is that what you think we were?"

"Yes. There were times when you were a dang fool! You both were." Adams took his hand back, "It's not fair that Matilda has had to pay the price for her parents' foolishness."

Dillon was quiet again, his heart ached with the enormity of grief, his feelings were a jumble, and he couldn't have described them had he tried. He loved Kitty. He hated Kitty. But above all, he felt utterly lost without her.

Matt's sorrow reached Doc's heart. Seeking to disrupt the obvious flow of emotions, the old man pushed the coffee mug in Dillon's hand and Matt took a second drink. The brew seemed to stabilize his thoughts, "I wouldn't know where or how to begin." He admitted.

"Kitty must have known it would be hard, that's why she took the time to write down a few suggestions. I guess if it was me, I'd start at the top of the list and see where it takes you."

A shadow of a smile worked its way across Matt's sad face. Kitty had a favorite saying, one she'd used time and again, when life's obvious lessons seemed to pass him by. He could almost hear her voice, low and suggestive, "Come on over to the bar Cowboy, and I'll show you how it works."


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve**

Leticia Krump was twenty-three, the oldest of seven children born to Gerhardt and Elfrieda Krump. By the standards of the day she was not considered a ravishing beauty, but she did possess lovely features. Her cornflower blue eyes were framed by lush sun tipped lashes and her shiny thick hair was a warm honey blond. She had cheeks that were full and rosy with deep dimples that served as punctuation marks for her shapely red lips and straight white teeth. No, she wasn't beautiful, but in many ways she was far more pleasing to the eye than a woman of great beauty.

Standing just under average height, Leticia had what might be described as a full figure, not fat, but certainly generously padded in all areas. She was the kind of girl that even nice men with perfect manners felt a strong inclination to pinch, but even so, they were never afraid to take her home to meet their mother.

Seven years earlier, when Lettie was sixteen her mother had passed away during the flu epidemic, which had swept through Ford County . Some of the responsibilities for raising her younger siblings fell to the gentle shoulders of Leticia Krump.

Her father, Gerhardt Krump was a master baker. He had learned his trade growing up in Germany and later when his family immigrated to Wisconsin . As a young man he moved west with his new bride. There in Dodge City , Kansas, on the corner of Front and Side Streets, he opened up his business, Krump's Backerei. He specialized in hard rolls, rye and white bread, pretzels, kuchens and pies.

Aunt Helga from Thiensville , Wisconsin , had joined the family six months after Mrs. Krump's passing, and she took over the burden for mothering her brother's brood. Helga was Gerhardt's younger sister and the best adjective for her physical appearance would be thick. Everything about her was thick, neck, shoulders, waist, hips and most especially her head. She was stubborn and domineering. It was little wonder she had never attracted a man of her own, although it wasn't from a lack of trying, and perhaps this was the ultimate reason for her single status.

Lettie's field of expertise as far as the family business was concerned fell in the area of pie and kuchen baking. She had perfected the art of a flaky flavorful crust, crimped with dainty finger fluting. Her fillings were always sweet and juicy, sprinkled with a layer of sugar dust. With Lettie's kuchens and pies sitting in the front window, the shop was always full, and more often than not the customers were young cowpokes and farmers eager for not only a taste of pie but also a little sugar from the fresh young lips of Leticia Krump.

She was Dodge City 's most popular good girl, and had received numerous propositions and proposals, none of which she accepted, for if truth be told, Lettie's heart already belonged to a man. It had been lost when she was little more than a young girl.

Had he been a rock star born one hundred years later, the teenage girl could not have been more infatuated. The fact Marshal Dillon had shown her kindness when her mother passed and had always given her a smile when he stopped by the shop only served to intensify her condition of the heart. Perhaps Kitty realized in Leticia Krump, Matt would have a mate who would give devotion to the likes of a puppy to its master, and Matilda would have not only a mother figure but a playmate as well.

**GS GS GS GS**

At Doc's urging, Matt had visited Wally's Bath and Barber House, for a good soak, shave and haircut. He put on a nearly new pair of tan canvas pants, and a crisp blue shirt but stopped short of wearing his courting jacket, as that one piece of apparel brought back too many precious yet painful memories.

When he was looking as good as he was going to get, given the current circumstances he marched himself over to Krump's Bakerei.

He stood on the boardwalk, looking through the front display window. As if he were readying himself for a showdown, he flexed his fingers. There was a niggling uneasiness in the pit of his belly, which he recognized as guilt. A strong sense of disloyalty overwhelmed him. He felt like a traitor to love despite the fact he was doing as Kitty ordered.

He ran a tongue over his dry lips and turned the knob on the front door. Bells attached to the door rang out cheerfully as he walked into the bakery. A whoosh of warm fragrant air attacked his senses. For a moment, he understood how cinnamon, vanilla and fresh baked bread could serve as a heady aphrodisiac to a hungry lonely man.

Leticia stood behind the front counter, wearing a ruffled white apron over a blue gingham gown. Her hair was pulled away from her face with a white bow. She liberally flashed dimples and giggles while serving her customers with the same efficient good humor Kitty had always expected in the Long Branch girls. Lettie worked her way through the patronage until finally Dillon was the only one left to be served. Her tender heart thumped hard in her chest and she looked up at him with a shy smile, while her pink cheeks reddened as their eyes met.

Dillon's throat went dry and the words he spoke, squeaked like an adolescent boy's. "Miss Lettie …" He cleared his throat and tried again, and this time the words came out in his normal manly voice, "Miss Leticia," Leticia stifled a nervous giggle. She historically made a fool of herself whenever he was around, becoming clumsy of foot, hand and mouth. She couldn't help it, as common rational thought flew from her brain whenever she was in the presence of Matt Dillon. Taking a heavy breath, she fought hard not to let her infatuation get the better of her this time. "How can I help you Marshal?" she asked, with a surprisingly controlled voice.

"I was wondering …" He ran his tongue over his damnably dry lips. All he could think of was how very young she looked, "If you'd care to step over to Delmonico's for a cup of coffee and a piece of pie." Now, while soaking in the tub, Matt had given this overture considerable forethought. During his early days with Kitty, the invitation to take a break at Delmonico's was always well received.

Lettie gave him a confused smile, wondering if this was Dillon's idea of a joke. She saw his face was serious. A thought came to mind that perhaps she had done something in offence of the law. Her pretty brows crossed in a frown, as she tried to think of any crime she'd be capable of committing. All of the sudden it hit her like sauerkraut an hour after consumption. The Marshal was courting her. The impossible had come to pass; Matt Dillon was here to woo her! The giggle she'd worked so hard to contain earlier sneaked past her defenses. She offered a coy eye flutter, knowing her good looks were just one of many resources available, with which to win his heart. For baker Krump's daughter was aware that pumpernickel had power but a well-prepared pastry made a most formidable arsenal. She walked around the counter to face him, "Marshal Dillon, Delmonico's offers a good pie, but no one bakes a better apple kuchen than I do. Aunt Helga has coffee on the stove in the kitchen, I'm sure she'll watch the bakery while I take a break." She held out her young hand to his, and without thinking, he took it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen**

The Principal of the school was a pale thin man of average height with long fingers and thinning hair. In his youth, Orville Groendyke had been sent home from divinity school; the reasons were never talked about. Deeply disappointed Orville decided to devote his life to education. However the work of the Lord was never far from his actions and he felt duty bound to save the souls of the students entrusted in his care.

That morning as he had looked out his office window and caught the last act of Matilda and Angel's play. Whether conscious or unconscious thought, he gave label to the participants as the School Board President's daughter and the saloon madam's illegitimate offspring. Indignation at the audacity of the bastard child forced a 'Humpf,' through his flared nostrils. He rushed through the school and upon reaching the scene, pushed his way past the teacher and reached down to grab little Matilda by the ear, "you will come with me," he ordered with the irrevocability of St. Peter on Judgment Day. There was an immediate gasp of horror from her classmates all except for Angel Louise Bodkin, who made no attempt to conceal a decided smirk of satisfaction.

"All right children." Miss Tuttwell said, clapping her hands, "Recess is over."

A chorus of disappointed, "ohs" followed this proclamation, playtime had been shortened considerably and no one was happy about the fact. They formed a line, marched back into the schoolhouse and took their seats. "You will please remove your McGuffey Readers from your desks and turn to today's lesson." From the open door they could hear Mr. Groendyke's voice as he gave a hell and damnation sermon to his one child congregation. From time to time there would be the sound of a large thump. The children in Miss Tuttwell's class would jump at the noise. Finally she told the Herbie Heitzer to close the door. At noon she dismissed her class for their lunch hour.

Miss Tuttwell met Mr. Groendyke in the hall, his voice was grave as he made his request, "I must deliver these papers to Mr. Bodkin - official school board business - you will be so kind Miss Tuttwell, as to watch that Russell child until I return."

"We heard noises, you didn't strike Matilda, did you?"

"Of course not - I was however, forceful. A child like that - bad seed you know - she won't respond to kindness, nor would it be a kindness to treat her such. I have given her a task to write. I will expect it completed upon my return."

Miss Tuttwell watched Groendyke leave the building before entering his office. Matilda sat in a big chair at a very large table, her feet far from touching the ground and the table shoulder height to her small frame. The little girl looked up from her paper.

"You'd best get working Matilda." Sydney moved closer, looking over Matilda's shoulders at the blank page, "What did Mr. Groendyke tell you to write?"

Her voice held a slight tremble, which was the only betrayal of fear, "The wages of sin is death."

Sydney inhaled and then recited the Bible verse, "For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord - Romans 6:23." To herself she thought, such harsh words for so small a child. It wouldn't do to show compassion; Sydney 's voice was firm. "Get started then."

Matilda picked up the pencil, and looked at the paper. Her grip on the writing tool was clearly unpracticed. She made a crude T, and then a wobbly A and backward B and Miss Tuttwell suddenly understood, the seven year old had no idea how to write much less spell out the words of the Bible verse.

The teacher glanced out the window and saw Mr. Groendyke walking toward town; quickly, she pulled a chair next to Matilda and sat down. At the top of the page she printed, "The wages of sin is death."

"Can you copy those letters?" she asked.

Matilda's eyes widened in surprise, was Miss Tuttwell an ally after all? She nodded her head causing her wild mop of red hair to bob about her head, "I'll try." It was a painstakingly slow process but finally she accomplished the sentence.

"Good, how many times did Mr. Groendyke say you had to write it?"

"Twenty-five".

Sydney pulled the paper away from Matilda, and with her left hand wrote the verse. The effect was not so much different than the child's sprawling. She then wrote it ten more times taking every other line of the tablet. "There, now you fill in the spaces in between."

Matilda gathered her legs under her and kneeled on the chair, giving her a better angle to attack the paper. With intense concentration she set to work, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she formed the letters, trying her very best to copy her teacher's guide.

When she had finished, she turned to Miss Tuttwell, "Is he going to kill me?"

"No Matilda. He is just trying to let you know there can be serious consequences for doing wrong. He wants to make sure you will try harder to be a good girl."

"Angel Louise wasn't being a very good girl, and she didn't have to write nothing."

"She didn't have to write _anything_." Understanding softened Sydney's voice,

"Life isn't always fair Matilda. You should know that better than anyone."

Matilda nodded, licked her lips, and then said, "Thank you for helping me."

"I am a teacher, this is my job."

From the hall they could hear the sound of Mr. Groendyke's voice announcing his return from Mr. Bodkin's bank. Matilda looked up at Miss Tuttwell, and her voice was low and serious as she whispered in confidence. "I can't read you know."

"I know. I would like to help. We could start tonight."

"You'd do that for me?"

The lips, so often held tense and humorless, relaxed and lifted ever so slightly at the corners, "As I said Matilda, I'm a teacher, this is my job."

**GS GS GS GS**

There is a saying in life, that timing is everything. In the case of Leticia and Marshal Dillon, this could not have been a truer phrase. She led him to an oak door with wide wrought iron bands and into a dark brick lined hall with ovens on either side. He had to duck to fit through the doorway, but once in he saw there was no ceiling for they were walking through a chimney of sorts. The remnants aroma of wood smoke tickled his nostrils.

"Die Schwarz Kueche." She explained as if those words were enough.

"Huh?"

"Black Kitchen, the bakery oven. Early in the morning, Papa bakes the bread and rolls here." Just walking through the ovens made Dillon sweat, nullifying his earlier efforts in the bathhouse. Three Dillon strides and they came to a door identical to the first, Lettie opened it and the difference was as day is to night.

The kitchen was bright, with yellow painted walls and sunshine. Crisp white muslin decorated six, eight over eight windows and a glass paned back door, allowed for plenty of light to enter the room. This was clearly the center of life for the Krump family. The room was divided in half by a long pine table with equally long pine benches on either side. Above the table was a hanging hand painted hurricane lamp, with dangling prisms, which caught the sunlight and scattered the room with miniature rainbows. Although out of place in so humble an abode it seemed clearly at home. In the far corner was a stairway and under the stairway a door.

The side of the room closest to Dillon and the Schwarz Kueche was a work area for the bakery. Two identical Acme Charm six-hole steel ranges sat side by side, with a substantial woodpile between them. From each oven emitted the tantalizing aroma of apple kuchen. At a work table lined up against the wall was the backside of Aunt Helga. She was in the process of rolling out kringle. The sleeves on her gray broadcloth dress were pushed up to her elbows and her visible arms were white with flour. The back of her and under her arms was stained with perspiration. She wore a white apron and kerchief over her hair. "Tanta Helga" Leticia said, "We have company."

Expecting no one special, Helga Krump turned around to see the man of her dreams. Yes, it is true. If young Leticia viewed Matt Dillon with the fervor of a young fan to a rock star, Helga Krump's worship could not have been more devout had he been the reincarnation of a Greek God. She gasped and her floury hands flew to her sweaty face. "Auch du Gott!" she exclaimed.

"Afternoon Miss Krump." Dillon said with some discomfiture, for he was aware Miss Helga had eyes for him.

"Tanta … I've offered Marshall Dillon coffee und pie, vould you mind watching the bakery for a few moments?"

Oh, Helga wanted nothing so much as to push her pretty young niece aside and plop herself right next to Dillon. She turned around briefly to lift her apron to her face and wipe away the sweat and flour. "I da kafee pour, ja?" she asked with an almost giddy quality to her middle aged voice. "I got fresh apple kuchen, vith da vhey cream."

Lettie nodded, "Danka Tanta, but someone must be out in the shop, vhat if ve have customers. I take care of da Marshal."

Helga made a graceless curtsy and left the kitchen through the Schwarz Kueche … mumbling something indiscernible under her breath.

"Sit Marshal Dillon … I vill pour de kaffee."

Dillon had no sooner lowered his frame to the bench, than the back kitchen door flew open and in trooped the younger Krump children. There was Giselle, who at sixteen had all the promise of great beauty; there was Adelheide, who was thirteen and a bit of a tomboy. The twins, Peter and Paul were twelve, Hilda ten, Gertrude nine, and Helmut just eight. There was a great deal of noise with everyone talking at once, each eager for milk, pie and an ear to listen to their day's adventures.

Most certainly the commotion was too much for Gerhardt Krump, who due to his early morning duties, made it a practice to sleep several hours in the middle of the day. He entered the room, from the door under the stairway, like a grizzly disturbed from winter's slumber. He was a short man, with a round belly and round red face. For a moment he was silent, surprised to see Matt Dillon at his table.

The good man seemed to weigh the situation. Of course town talk had already reached his ears, thanks to the indiscrete arguing of Doc and Festus. He had guessed it would only be a matter of time before Dillon came a courting. His daughter could do worse.

"Guttentag, Herr Marshal." He greeted.

Herr Marshal had jumped to his feet, holding his Stetson in clammy fingers. "Mr. Krump." He returned and then figuring more of an explanation for his presence was needed, "Miss Letty here was just going to …" The Krump children cut off his fumbling response, each clamoring for their Papa's attention.

"Stilzine!" he ordered with a powerful voice of authority. To Leticia he said, "Keep da kinder quiet." To Matt he gave a nod of his head and a smile.

"Ja papa." Lettie said, as Baker Krump retreated back to his bedroom under the stairs.

With Helga and her Papa out of the room, Lettie took a deep breath and smiled back at Dillon. "I'll get you dat piece of kuchen ... Matthew." She added his name shyly, not as an afterthought but more as an endearment. She turned to her sister, hoping to employ her aid with the love connection. "You vill de coffee get?" Dillon noticed that when speaking with her family Lettie's German accent became more pronounced. He liked it - she really was delightful. Lettie noticed the way the Marshal was looking at her, and her fresh young face flushed most attractively.

The coffee cup was placed in front of him and Lettie brought the kuchen, still warm from the oven and topped by rich whey cream.

There was a protest from one of the children wondering why Dillon was the only one getting the dessert, while they had to be content with week old cookies, but Lettie hushed them with "Stilzine."

She returned to take a seat at Dillon's side, while her sister sat at the other, both intently watching his reaction as he took his first mouthful. There was a kind of salve to his sore spirit, in that warm kitchen with a large plate of apple kuchen in front of him and two admiring young ladies beside him. For a brief moment he forgot his sorrow and troubles. That is until young Helmut spoke up. "You are Matilda's papa?" He asked.

Reality smacked him, "Yes." he admitted.

Not a tattletale by nature, the young boy couldn't really resist the opportunity to be the first to tell the Marshal about his errant daughter.

"Vell, Matilda got in trouble and had to spend the afternoon in Master Groendyke's office."

"What did she do?"

Helmut let out a chortle, "She knocked Angel Louise Bodkin on her butt!" The other children giggled too. "It's about time someone did." pronounced Gertrude.

Worry crossed Matt's face. He'd been afraid something like this was going to happen. The kid wasn't fit for polite society; he wiped his face on the napkin, took a quick drink of the strong rich coffee, and made his apologies. "Miss Lettie, I'm sorry, but I better be getting back to the boarding house."

Lettie hid her disappointment behind dimples, her best friend Rachel was having a taffy pull and the baker's daughter could think of no greater coup than bringing Marshal Matt Dillon along as her escort. "Matthew ... I was wondering ... that is ... Mrs. Waldo Walker is having a taffy pull and sociable in her home tomorrow, would you care to accompany me?"

Rachel had married Waldo Walker six months earlier, they had a little house on the edge of town, Matt's imagination brought fourth a clear image of the event. It was certainly not going to be the kind of evening he'd look forward to, but he was in this far and he figured he might as well jump in all the way.

"I'd be pleased to Miss Lettie, what time should I come by for you?"

Her dimples deepened and her blue eyes sparkled with excitement making him think it might almost be worth the effort. "Six o'clock tomorrow evening would be fine."


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen**

_(warning - spanking of a child)_

Sydney Tuttwell's habit was to remain at her desk well past dismissal time grading papers and readying her teaching plan for the following day. However this day, she determined it would be prudent to walk home with Matilda.

When she entered the principal's office that man was again lecturing the child. It was not without surprise that she noted the little girl's eyes had glazed over, and she had no doubt long ago tuned out the principal's words.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you Principal Groendyke, but I have come to escort Matilda back to the boarding house, I will of course make her father fully aware of today's events."

Matilda gave Miss Tuttwell a wary look, thinking, with sinking heart that the teacher had turned back to a dragon lady.

Groendyke's furrowed brow narrowed making it appear he had only one long eyebrow that sunk in the center of his forehead. "Please tell Mr. Dillon, we will not tolerate the child's behavior and further indiscretions will be dealt with swift corporal punishment."

"I will tell him." she said, turning to the child she bade, "Matilda, come with me"

Matilda had no fight left in her; her only desire at that point was to escape to the sanctity of her room and the comfort of her doll, Miss Kitty. She did as she was told.

Miss Tuttwell walked fast, and Matilda had to run to keep up with the pace. For the most part few words were exchanged until they were back on Front Street about a block away from Ma Smalley's. "Tonight after supper we'll start your reading lessons."

"Are you going to tell _HIM_ about teaching me to read?"

"Him? Mr. Groendyke?"

"No, Matt Dillon..."

"Not if you don't want me to ... are you planning to surprise him?"

Matilda shook her head but offered no other explanation and the teacher decided against forcing the issue.

They entered the boarding house through the back kitchen door. The smell of pot roast and onions hung in the air, Ma stood against the counter pealing potatoes. She offered a welcoming smile and a questioning look in the teacher's direction. "How did things go?"

"All things considered, I believe Matilda handled herself quite well."

Ma's face relaxed, "Would you like some milk and cookies child?"

Some of the stress of her bad day started to leave her. The little girl nodded her head and then found her voice, "Yes ma'am."

"Get the milk from the icebox, and I'll get you a glass, Miss Tuttwell, would you care for some?"

"I'm not much for sweets Mrs. Smalley, I'll save my appetite for later. I'll see you at dinner Matilda."

"Cookies are in the cookie jar, you may take three." Ma said as she poured the milk.

"Would you like a cookie too?" Matilda asked, and Ma got the strong feeling that the child wanted someone to sit down with her and talk. The trouble was at this time of day, Ma had a dozen and one things to get done so she could get supper on the table. Still, she hated to disappoint the child. However as she looked up she saw Dillon's shadow walking toward the screen door.

"Here comes your Pa, I'll bet he'd like some cookies."

Matilda reached in the jar and extracted three more cookies. She turned to smile as her father walked through the door. The look on his face caused the cookies to drop from her hand.

There was no doubt Matt Dillon was angry. Like Ma's beef it had been stewing since he'd left the Krump's kitchen. It was fairly bubbling over at this point. Dillon had been a proponent of spanking. Over his years in law enforcement, he'd encouraged parents to place a firm hand on a firm bottom as discipline for naughty children. After hearing his daughter had spent the afternoon in the principal's office, Matt had little doubt what he needed to do. It was time after all, the child had run roughshod over half of Dodge making him a laughing stock in his own town.

His frame seemed to take over the entire doorway and even Ma cringed at the imposing site an agitated Matt Dillon made.

There were no words of greeting, he cut right to the chase, "I understand you got into a fight at school today."

"Not exactly." she replied.

"You pushed the Bodkin girl to the ground, didn't you?"

Yes, but she deserved it."

"There's no excuse for fighting."

Matilda's mouth formed a straight line, so reminiscent of her mother that had Dillon noticed, it would have melted the anger in his heart, as it was he was too mad to take note of anything other than the job he was set to do.

He sat down on one of Ma's kitchen chairs, "Come here Matilda."

She shook her head, the red curls bobbed, "No."

"I said come here."

Her little heart beat faster and she stole a glance at Ma, hoping that kind lady would put in a good word for her. But Ma hastily turned around and began stirring the stew.

She stiffened her spine, and hardened her heart walking to her father with full knowledge he was going to strike her.

He swung her up and over his knee, her skirt slipped up revealing her small pantalet clad rump. He administered three solid smacks, each one hurting him more than the last. He righted her and turned her to face him.

"No more fighting at school do you hear me."

Matilda nodded her head, biting her lip to keep from crying. Her eyes blazed hate at him. But she said nothing, absolutely nothing.

Two and one half cookies and a full glass of milk remained behind after Matilda left the room. She didn't run, but walked out with her head held high. She was a true product of her mother's innate dignity.

Matt grimaced and glanced up at Ma who had turned around to give him an angry look. He made an attempt at defending himself, "She had it coming. You've said so yourself Ma … she needs a firm hand and direction."

"True, its what I said, but even a horse thief gets his day in court - you were a one man lynch mob Matt Dillon - didn't even wait to hear her side of things."

"There's no excuse for fighting … "

"I'll be pleased to remind you of that fact the next time you're at Doc's getting patched up from a saloon brawl."

"That's not the same thing Ma and you know it."

"I know about the blood that runs through her … she ain't gonna stand for something that don't set right with her. I've seen that little Bodkin girl; you'd think she was the next Queen of England. Fancy clothes, fancy house, and more playthings then the rest of the youngins in Dodge put together. She's got everything a little girl could ask for … that kind of richness can spoil a child … there's such a circumstance as too much of a good thing you know."

"Wait a minute Ma, Matilda's the one who pushed her to the ground … not the other way around …"

"What you're not asking yourself Marshal … is why … why did Matilda feel the need to teach her a lesson."

"We're going around in circles Ma - like I said, there's no excuse for fighting, especially for a little girl …"

"Oh that's right …" Ma said with a certain amount of sarcasm in her voice, "You're an expert on the subject of little girls."

He shook his head. Most reluctantly, he admitted some truth to what Ma was trying to get through to him.

He heaved a sigh, "I'll go up and talk to Matilda." He offered standing up.

"You'll do nothing of the kind." Ma ordered. "Leave her be … sounds to me like she's got enough going on right now. Let her sort things out a might before you go offering your apologies and making matters worse."

He sat down hard, hit by a vague sense of helplessness. Resting his elbows on his thighs and staring at his hands, he asked, "What should I do?"

Ma turned her back to the lawman and gave her stew a stir; "I reckon if it was me, I'd go up and have a little chat with Miss Tuttwell."

"Why?" He was still wounded from his meeting with her in the schoolhouse that morning; he had no desire to suffer further indignities at her hands.

"You might try to think of her as a witness for the defense, Marshal."

**GS GS GS GS**

He had to walk past Matilda's room to get to Miss Tuttwell's. He stopped at her door and listened briefly. He heard his daughter's voice, no doubt speaking to her doll, but the words were too soft for him to decipher. Guilt took a swing. The doll was hearing the words he should have been ready to listen to. Again, he had the desire to go to her, but refrained, figuring it was time he started following Ma's advise more closely.

After a moment he moved on to Miss Tuttwell's door. He could hear her walking across the wood planks; heard the scrape of chair as she sat down. He raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. The female of the species suddenly dominated his world and he was frankly feeling a might raw from the experience. Oh how he wished for the sanity of Kitty's gentle touch and clear thinking to pull him out of this mess.

As he was pondering what to do next, the door across the hall swung open and there appeared Miss Taffy Boyd in a gown he would have sworn was Kitty's. He had to blink twice before he could meet her eyes. The dress was a deep hunter green and form fitting, with tiny little crystals decorating the bodice making the sparkles shimmer across her bosom as she breathed in and out.

Taffy smiled and propelled her breasts forward and their impressive presence was impossible to ignore, even for a grief-riddled soul such as he. She gave her head a toss and her lively curls danced and he noted the arrangement was so like the style Kitty had preferred to wear.

He licked his lips and nodded his head, "Miss Taffy."

"Why Marshal honey, I was just on my way to work, might you be so sweet as to walk me there? A pretty girl can't be too careful, doncha know?" She moved closer grabbing his arm in hers so that the thrust of her breasts rubbed warm and inviting against his body.

"Ummm, Miss Taffy … " he stuttered making a feeble attempt to stand his ground.

She smelled of Kitty's favorite perfume – _Bourjois Lescaut _- a heady floral scent so expensive Dillon had only been able to buy it for her once a year, on Christmas. It had to be special ordered direct from Paris, France. Before the lawman realized what had happened he was backed up against the wall. His breathing had turned a might jagged and heretofore-dormant quarters of his body were responding to the sensual pressure of the voluptuous Miss Boyd.

And, that's when Miss Tuttwell opened the door of her room with notebook and primer in hand eager to get a head start on Matilda's reading lesson.

Miss Tuttwell's much smaller bosom heaved in disdain. "Marshal Dillon!" she said with a tone she would have used to reproof the most loathsome creature in her domain. Every aspect of his oversized body shrunk in size under her disapproving stare. The teacher intimidated even the flamboyant Miss Taffy, for she backed quickly away and excused herself as being late for the Long Branch.

Matt ran a nervous tongue over his dry lips, and attempted a smile; "I was just coming to see you when I ran into Miss Boyd."

"Mr. Dillon, I wasn't born yesterday …"

"No Ma'am … you sure weren't." He winced when he realized his words came out less than flattering.

Miss Tuttwell stretched her long skinny neck an inch higher, "Might I remind you, that your daughter is here now and she is paying for the repercussions brought about by your aberrant dalliance with her mother. I ask if you have any form of moral fortitude you refrain from such lascivious behavior with every trollop and harlot to cross your path. You sir, are an embarrassment to your child."

He was caught with his mouth open for a moment while he processed her words. The moment of truth hit him, "Is that what the fight was about?"

"You heard about the fight?"

He nodded, "It's all over town by now. The Marshal's kid decked the School Board President, Banker Bodkin's daughter."

"And … do you know why?"

"Matilda's a trouble maker … I might have figured she'd end up in Groendyke's office."

"She was defending her mother … and you … Angel Louise made accusations regarding the legitimacy of Matilda's birth. She called you and Miss Russell - fornicators."

A blow to the gut would have left him less winded, he found himself backed against the wall once more. Miss Tuttwell noted with some degree of satisfaction, she'd hit her mark. Dillon sputtered disjointedly, "Where … how would she hear? Angel Louise is just a little girl, why would she …"

"You underestimate children … no doubt you have heard the saying, 'Little pitchers have big ears?' If talk is going on in the Bodkin domicile, you can be certain it is prevalent in the less refined homes of the school district as well."

His mind flashed briefly on the kind of day Matilda must have had and for the first time he felt responsible for the emotional trauma he'd caused. "What can I do?"

"As I said, stop publicly groping every hussy and strumpet within reach and start behaving as a responsible parent."

He was downright indignant in his answer, "Miss Tuttwell … I do not …"

"Mr. Dillon, I don't care to hear the sordid details of your surreptitious life, I'm just saying if you want respectability for your daughter you will have to amend your private comings and goings, for in a town this size they are public knowledge." Her nose slanted north and she spun and marched back in her room.

Dillon exhaled until he felt completely deflated. He was in need of a stiff drink and a shoulder to cry on. With heavy feet and heavy heart he went to his own room, where unfortunately he had neither.

In the next room Matilda sat on the floor. Her doll was opposite her, propped against a pillow. Between them was a miniature set of china dishes, "I'll serve." She said, and made a show of lifting a pretty hand painted teapot and dispensing imaginary liquid into a matching cup. "Here you go." She said, setting the cup on the doll's lap." "Careful now, it's hot."

She repeated the process for herself and then took a sip of the pretend drink. "I do so love our tea parties Miss Kitty. Would you care for a cookie? Ma made them fresh today." She picked up an empty plate and held it out to the doll. "They're good aren't they?" Her own stomach growled, she'd had little more than a bite of cookie since breakfast that morning, for her lunch had been spent in Mr. Groendyke's office. The thought made her angry. Grown-ups were nasty; there wasn't one of them a kid could trust. She forced a smile for the doll's sake. "These cookies are so good, I think I'll have another one."

From the hall she heard voices and recognizing one of them as her father's, she excused herself from the doll's presence and went to stand by her door with ear pressed against the wood. It was with some surprise that she heard Miss Tuttwell defend her and Matilda being fair of heart, revised her earlier declaration, maybe they weren't all nasty. She would hold judgment with regard to Sydney Tuttwell. However, as for Matt Dillon, he remained a doody-head.


	15. Chapter 15

**fifteen**

Supper that night was a quiet affair. Matilda sat next to her father, however she was so close to the far edge of her chair that Dillon was surprised she didn't fall off. She ate like a bird, and didn't even finish her small helping of mashed potatoes. She politely refused dessert. It was as everyone else was enjoying cake that an obviously harried Festus came to the door reporting a major disruption at the Long Branch. Dillon immediately left with his deputy and as the door slammed Matilda asked, "Ma, may I have a piece of cake please."

"I thought you weren't hungry."

"I got my hungry back."

The child was as good as gold helping Ma clear away the dishes after everyone had eaten. She even took the whiskbroom and dustpan and cleaned up the crumbs under the table.

"Maybe a spanking was what the child needed." Mrs. Heitzer commented with a low voice to Mrs. Smalley, before heading out to the front porch to enjoy the early twilight with Mr. Heitzer. Ma replied with a shrug of her shoulders and a shake of her head.

When her tasks had been accomplished Miss Tuttwell invited Matilda into the parlor. The two sat stiffly, side by side on Ma's horsehair sofa, as the teacher went over the alphabet and words that rhyme with 'at'.

Matilda Dillon had a sharp mind, and it took little more than introducing the subject to her before she began to grasp the basic concept of phonics. They went through the alphabet sounding out each letter and applying it to the base word 'at'. The teacher came to the letter "M" and asked Matilda to sound out the word. "M … mmmmm -at …. Matt …" She said, "Like my father's name."

"Yes and like yours … MATilda."

"I wish my name wasn't like his."

"Why?"

"He's not a very good father … or haven't you noticed?"

"Maybe you just need to give him time."

"Humph." Matilda snorted folding her arms across her flat chest.

"He's never been a father before - he has a lot to learn. It's like you and reading Matilda, it's not easy to learn something new and along the way you're bound to make mistakes and feel discouraged, but if you keep trying you're sure to master the task."

The little girl's brow wrinkled in puzzlement, "I thought you didn't like him either?"

"It's not that I don't like him … he just has a lot to learn, but I see potential, just like I see infinite potential in you."

"Po-tential? What does that mean?"

"Well … it means the ability to succeed, to do very well, to be absolutely outstanding."

"He has that?"

"Yes and so do you - but it will take work. At times you may feel angry and frustrated and even want to throw something against the wall to alleviate that feeling of being discouraged and downhearted."

Thinking of her doll, Matilda admitted, "That's not so good, is it?"

"No, I'm afraid it isn't, because it solves nothing. The key Matilda to unlock the door to your great potential is to keep trying as hard as you can."

Some of the stiffness left Matilda's small frame and she relaxed against the teacher's side, that is until Miss Tuttwell said, "I have some homework for you to do before tomorrow evening's lesson."

**GS GS GS GS**

Matt Dillon ended his night by paying a visit to Doc Adams. The fight at the Long Branch had exacted a toll; a black eye, bruised jaw and four inch knife slash on his upper arm.

Adams, garbed in hastily pulled on trousers, stripped flannel night shirt and slippered feet had carefully stitched up the laceration and then took a step back to admire his handiwork. He ran his fingers over his whiskered upper lip, "I'm getting too old for this." he admitted. "It's not pretty work, there was a time I did the best sutures in Kansas, not anymore. Of course I do a better job in the daytime … light's too poor in here to see what I'm doing."

"That so? Remind me never to get shot at night."

The old man left Matt sitting on the operating table while he went to his battered but beloved roll top desk and retrieved a bottle of Gold Barrel and two shot glasses. He filled them both to the brim and handed one to his patient.

"How did things go with Miss Letitia?" He asked settling himself in his desk chair.

"We have a date."

"A date?"

"Yup, a date." Dillon took a slow drink, letting the whiskey sit in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it. He gave the remaining amber liquid a swirl in the glass and then finished off the contents. He slid from the table and walked three steps to Adams desk, refilled his glass and eased his large but battered frame in the arm chair to the left of the roll top.

Doc watched him with sage eyes. His sight may have been failing him but it didn't take perfect vision to see what the trip to the saloon had cost Matt Dillon.

"First time back to the Long Branch since Kitty died?"

"Not exactly." He admitted. He'd broken up a fight once before, but usually Festus or Newly handled any Long Branch ruckus. He took another slow sip of the whiskey in hopes the firewater would warm up his cold, shriveled spirit. He stared ahead at a blank spot on the far wall. He was deep in the throws of melancholy, and the alcohol didn't help, "If it wasn't for Matilda, Doc, I'd be outa Dodge City. I'd be as far away from any memories of Kitty Russell as I could get."

"Wouldn't solve anything you know. Dead or not, she's part of you and will be for the rest of your life. What you gotta do is learn to live with that."

Dillon nodded again, his bruised jaw yielded a trace tremor before he set it firmly in place. He didn't leave Doc's office until some time later , when both wisdom and Gold Barrel had been exhausted.

**GS GS GS GS GS**

Her father wasn't up when she went down for breakfast. "He had a late night." Ma revealed as she plopped a serving spoon full of oatmeal in Matilda's bowl.

Miss Tuttwell was at the stove helping herself to a cup of coffee but turned to look at Ma with a raised and questioning eyebrow, "He was at Doc's." Ma said.

"Did he get hurt?" Matilda asked with some fear in her voice.

"From what I saw at 3:00 A.M. this morning, he looked like it had been a hum dinger of a fight at the Long Branch … I don't reckon he'll be down to walk you to school, missy."

"Matilda will walk to school with me this morning." Miss Tuttwell replied.

"That's okay … I don't need no body to walk to school with me."

Even though she had repeated her claim several times she still ended up walking beside Miss Tuttwell. Sydney Elvira had slowed her pace, but still Matilda had to trot to keep up with her long legged stride. For the most part they walked in silence other than one or two pointed questions from teacher to student, "Did you practice your lessons before you went to bed last night?"

"Yes ma'am, I wrote the whole alphabet three times and printed my name five times … AND … I practiced writing the 'at' words too."

The 'at' words hadn't been part of the assignment, but Miss Tuttwell refrained from a pleased smile, "Good, I'll take a look at what you wrote this evening."

School went much better that day. Angel Louise was home sick. Without the spoiled girl's influence Matilda found the rest of her classmates quite agreeable. She especially enjoyed Helmut Krump and little Herbie Heitzer and was pleased to learn they shared her low opinion of Angel Louise Bodkin.

Meanwhile, back at the Boarding House, Dillon slept late and awoke with a mild hangover to compliment his bruised head and lacerated arm. He was stiff and slow as he made his way down the back stairs to the kitchen. He found Ma sitting at the table with a cup of tea in front of her, a book in one hand and a hanky in the other. Her eyes were red and her cheeks moist from tears.

"Ma?" he asked, forgetting his own sorrows for the moment, "What's wrong? What happened."

She looked up and smiled through her tears, "Just having myself a good cry, is all."

She dried her eyes, blew her nose and placed the hanky in the book to save her place.

"Nothing like a good cry to make a woman feel better." She gave the gilt engraved tome a pat, "The Trials of Miss Prudence Pride or Love Unconquered, best book I ever read."

"Is that all - one of those dime romance novels, I don't know why you women feel you gotta read those things."

Ma didn't have many indulgences in her life. She spent her day from early morning to well after sunset running the boarding house. She cooked and cleaned, washed dishes , did laundry and changed the sheets on ten or more beds at least once a week. But, she always set aside an hour mid-morning to read some sort of love story. She took it real personal for anyone to trivialize that small luxury. She stood up with a purpose, and wagged her finger at him. "I'll tell you why Matt Dillon. I'm an old widow lady, my days of romance are over and done with, but when I read one of these stories, well, I'm young again … and I remember how wonderful it felt to love someone so much it hurt …"

Dillon backed off. "Fine Ma. Read your fairy tales, but I don't know why you'd wanna feel that way again." The coffee pot was soaking in the sink, and it looked like the only beverage available was some of Ma's weak tea. He filled his own cup from her teapot and grabbed a leftover baking powder biscuit sitting on a plate.

Ma shooed him over to the table, "You sit down, I'll fix you some breakfast," she moved to the sink and rinsed out the coffee pot. She smiled some at him, "Didn't know when I was lecturing you about fighting yesterday that you'd go out and get yourself all beat up."

His jaw was sore and the biscuit was hard as a rock. She noticed his wince as he tried to bite down. She felt a pang of remorse as she realized she'd been pretty rough on him the past few days. "I'll make you some scrambled eggs, would you like that?" Moving to the ice box she took out a bowl of eggs.

She started cracking them into a mixing bowl, "Getting back to the subject of romance - heard you got yourself a date with young Lettie Krump."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Benny Smith - the butter and eggs man - he told me when he made his delivery this morning. He stops at Krump's before he comes here. She's a might young for you wouldn't you say?"

He forced down the rest of the weak tea, choking for a second on a portion of orange pekoe leaf that had been hiding at the bottom of his cup. His eyes watered from it and he coughed. He pushed himself up from the table and declared, "Don't bother with breakfast, I'll get something in town."

"But Marshal, what about these eggs?" Ma called as the back screen door closed with a reverberating slam.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen**

The jail cells were full and all occupants were in various stages of sleeping it off when he arrived at his office. Confined within were three cowpokes from the Ruby Q and four from the Lonesome U, along with Ralph Butler and Ricky Bates, two troublemakers from Moon Bar Ranch. This wasn't the first run-in Dillon had had with Susan Bart's cowhands and at this point the Marshal was frankly considering more serious charges. Butler and Bates were troublemakers who Dillon suspected had been involved with a rustling ring.

Festus was napping in Matt's chair with feet propped on the desk, battered hat slipped over eyes and hands behind head. He righted himself and jumped from the seat when Dillon entered the building. "Matthew," he greeted with one eye open and the other still closed. He gave his friend a hasty perusal, "You're alookin' a might peaky, how's the arm a doin'?"

"Doc patched it up. Any coffee?" Even as he asked he'd picked up the empty pot.

"I just finished off the last little bitty bit."

The Marshal scowled, all he wanted out of life this morning was a cup of coffee and some peace and quiet, was that asking too much? He nodded his head in the direction of the closed wood plank door, which divided office from jail cells, "they give you any trouble last night?"

"Them Moon Bar boys was a faun chin' and a bellerin' making enuff racket to wake up a dead injun pony, but they quit their complainin' when I tolt 'em I'd lock 'em in the same cell as them other yahoos and let 'em all fight it out. I tolt em, I don't care who was left when it was all said and dun."

"That worked?"

Haggen nodded and gave him a squinty grin, "Hear ya got yourself a date with Miss Lettie …"

"Doc tell you that? Did he?"

"No sir, Benny Smith, I met up with him on my way back from Delmonicos."

"Benny's got a big mouth."

**GS GS GS GS**

Leticia Krump was in a tizzy and had been since Matt Dillon had come a courting the day before. She was absolutely useless in the kitchen for she'd mixed up the sugar with the salt in her kringle pastry; in the bakery shop she'd shortchanged one customer and long changed another and completely forgot about a third. To make matters worse, her usual sweet temperament had been replaced by a sharp tongue. Her papa, deciding it was a slow day anyway had hung the 'closed' sign on the bakery window at 1:00 PM before going to take his afternoon nap.

Leticia was seated at the kitchen table, while Helga toiled frantically away at the work table rolling out pie dough. "Oh _Tanta_ … vhat am I to do?" she lamented with head in arms.

"Dere's another rolling pin in da drawer …", Helga offered.

"No … dat's not vhat I mean … I am so nervous … I am so afraid he will tink me a child …"

"Auch … dat's vhat you are … ."

"He's used to a woman like Kitty Russell."

Aunt Helga, whose experience in such circumstances was limited, offered what meager advise as she had gleaned from the pages of the Ladies Home Companion monthly periodical. "Make him feel like he is da smartest man _Gott_ ever put on da face of da earth!" She gave the dough she was working on a good thump against the pastry board and continued, "Alvays agree wit him … do not argue …" A thought came to her and she quickly added the addendum, "unless, of course, he is forward and tries to take da liberties." At this point both ladies locked eyes, smiled and then blushed and quickly looked away - for the thought of those liberties sent each virginal heart, the young one and old one into bona fide cardiac palpitations. With a shaky hand, Lettie poured herself a glass of buttermilk from the pitcher setting on the table.

The girl left Helga shortly after, retreating to the dormitory bedroom she shared with her sisters and Aunt Helga on the second level. The upstairs of the _Bakeria_ had been divided into two rooms the smaller one in the front, housed the three boys and the one in the back was for the five girls and Aunt Helga. The dainty room was a showcase for a dead mother's love and talent. There were five wooden bed frames decorated with the late Elfreida Krump's hand painted _Baurenmalerei _scenes of flowers and birds. Each bed had a different theme. Lettie's head board pictured a scene with blue birds and coral bells. A matching quilt, also hand crafted by the devoted mother adorned each of the beds. It was a cheerful room with whitewashed walls, muslin curtains and rag rugs scattered on the floor, providing the perfect atmosphere for sharing giggles and girlish dreams and fears. At the back of the room was a large painted wardrobe also decorated by Mrs. Krump's talented hand. It held the dresses of her daughters from the youngest to the oldest.

The far corner of the room was occupied by _Tanta_ Helga. She was separated from her nieces by two six foot high, wood framed paper screens to give her privacy from the young girls. Her bed was iron and covered by a thick wool quilt in dark colors.

In these pleasant surroundings, Leticia sat at the vanity table studying her reflection. The previous fall, deciding she needed something more grown up and sophisticated than gingham and calico, she had fashioned herself a gown adapted from the pages of a Godey's Lady's Book she had borrowed from her friend Rachel. The pattern had called for an emerald green silk. Lettie had used an apple-green polished cotton, because it had been the closest match she could find at Mr. Lathrop's store. It was to be trimmed in dainty hand made satin rosebuds, all her budget could afford was a bright pink muslin. She'd had to guess at the size of the blooms and some had turned out large and maybe a little clumsy looking. It is also possible she had over estimated the number of rosebuds needed, for the flowers she made far exceeded the number shown on the page of the magazine. Still, she'd remained true to the style and basic integrity of the design and it was well suited to her lush young curves. The gown had a low bodice at the bosom, with dainty off the shoulder sleeves, thus exposing more of Lettie Krump than had ever been shown in public before.

Now as she looked at her reflection she was reminded of her little sister Gertie playing dress-up. Gathering her honey blond hair in her hand, she attempted to arrange it atop her head in some feeble imitation of Kitty Russell's elaborate hair do. She shook her head in disgust. She was half tempted to run down to Rachel's house and ask her worldly married friend's advise. However, part of the fun of the evening was anticipating the surprise on Rachel and everyone else's face when she showed up with Matt Dillon as her escort. She considered asking _Tanta_ Helga but decided against that too, for Helga's idea of high style consisted of adding three spit curls across her forehead to soften the look of her severe braided hair bun.

The sound of the children home from school brought some ease to her panic and the sight of her younger sister Gisele as she bounded into the room was a great relief.

"Auch!," Gisele declared, "Da dress is perfect!"

Lettie face pulled into a pout, "I look like da little girl trying to be vhat she is not.'

Gisele moved up behind sister and lowered her frame until both their reflections were staring back at them from the mirror. "You look very pretty _schatzi_. (sweetheart)" she soothed.

"Miss Kitty vas so beautiful, she reminded me of a Queen - great und vorldly, I look like da peasant girl."

"You look young und pretty. But you are right, she did look like Queen with her silks, satins und sequins."

Lettie leaned in closer to the mirror, to get a better look at a miniscule pimple just starting on the end of her nose. She sighed, "Miss Kitty's hair _vas_ always just so _und da_ color, it vas like no other I have ever seen before. Her figure vas da perfect hourglass. _Auch du Gott _und her complexion vas vithout flaw. "

Gisele offered a note of reality, "Lettie, she _vore da _face pain, lots of it, most likely used da henna rinse in her hair und she vas rich enough to afford da finest corsets in Dodge City."

Lettie picked at the pimple, "Hmmm face paint."

"Papa vould kill you."

"No, he vouldn't - he never even vould notice. Gisele, you must go to Mr. Lathrop's store und get me some …" Light came to her eyes, and the corners of her pretty mouth lifted gaily, prompting the appearance of dimples. She raised her hand and with the other counted off on her fingers the items necessary to turn herself into Kitty Russell, "hair pins, pomade, face powder, rouge und eye kohl."

"Dear _Gott und himmel _… Mr. Lathrop vill never sell me dese tings."

"_Ja, _he vill too!", the light in her eyes brightened even more, "I know - tell him its for _Tanta_." And with that image in mind both girls burst out laughing. When she'd regained her composure, Giselle agreed to visit Mr. Lathrop's store.

Giselle ignored Aunt Helga as she scurried through the kitchen and out the back door. "I some help could use!" The former declared with well worn rolling pin in hand and pastry dough clinging to hair and apron.

This time of day, Mr. Lathrop's store was busy - a veritable hub-bub of Dodge City commerce. School children vying for position, were ogling the delectable delights at the candy counter, trying to decide on the best bargain in the five for a penny category. To the right, in front of the wood stove, where coffee cooked in a large True Blue Coffee Boiler , old man Taylor sat across Grandpa Flynn, with a checker board resting atop three soda cracker crates between them. By the farm tools, behind the pickle barrels, wheat farmers Franklin, Woodson and Payne were arguing over the attributes of the latest threshing implements being offered in the McCormick Catalogue. While, their wives and several girls from the Bull's Head were inspecting the latest shipment of yard goods from St. Louis. The owner and Proprietor of the General Store, Mr. Lathrop was rushing about the mercantile with a list in hand trying to fill out Edsel Pry's latest shopping order. To this bustle of activity scurried in sixteen-year old Gisele with only a vague idea where the tools of feminine deception might be located. She nodded to Mr. Lathrop and to his sister-in-law, Mrs. Gilligan who was assisting behind the candy counter, but failed to meet their eyes with her gaze.

Gisele recalled that in the back corner of the store were the pharmaceutical supplies, cures for ladies complaint and liver ailments and such. She proceeded forward. Hidden in this remote area were women's undergarments, including; bosom enhancers, up lifters, flatteners, corsets and girdles. She thanked goodness Leticia didn't need any help in those areas. She moved forward and scanned the merchandise. To the left of this display were the ladies toiletries and behind those the face paints and powders. The collection was surprisingly vast. Each product was in a jar more fancy than the next. She picked one up, a cobalt blue bottle with gilded label and studied the description and use. "Cleopatra's Floral Massage Cream, designed to bring back the color of youth and remove the telltale marks of time." Next to that rested a green bottle, with a naked woman embossed on the paper sticker and the words C. H. Berry's Freckle Ointment and along side that, a ornately decorated tin marked as, Orange Blooms Skin Food. There were powders, Satinette Face Powder, New Orleans Complexion Powder, World Famous Java Rice Powder, Myrka Powder ,Kosmeo Face Powder. There were rouges, as many of them as the face powder and there was hair tonic and curling fluid and bottles of Pomade. Giselle looked from one item to the next growing more confused and more of a mind to turn heel and flee. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, the girls from the Bull's Head meandered to the same area occupied by Giselle and began stocking up on the tools of their trade. Giselle stood back and made note and when the saloon gals left she picked out the same items they had.

Waiting in the back, until the line in front of the cash counter had cleared, Gisele gingerly set the items on the counter in front of Mrs. Gilligan. That good lady of middle years picked up the jars and containers one by one and then looked at the girl waiting with money in hand. "Land sake child, what do you want with this garbage? Rouge de Theatre … do you know what kind of lady wears this face paint … well let me tell you, she is NO lady at all … Parisian Complexion powder … tsk-tsk … Watkins Eye Kohl … oh my dear girl … Bethsheba's Hair Pomade! Miss Giselle … I have half a mind to take you by the hand, march you down the street and have a word with your father … the very idea …"

Giselle, who would later have a short lived career as an actress, leaned in closer and said with absolute seriousness, "Mrs. Gilligan, it is for _Tanta _Helga … you see she is not as young und pretty as you and is trying to attract _da_ attention of a certain gentleman."

"Oh my … do tell … in that case, might I suggest one of our premium corsets as well?"

"I vill mention it to her."

With due haste the items were wrapped in brown paper, money was exchanged and Giselle was on her way back to Leticia.

FYI The word___**Bauernmalerei**__, _pronounced **Bow-urn-mall-er-eye** (bow rhymes with cow), translates as "peasant painting" (literally "farmer painting") from German. Although this folk art evolved in Germany, Austria and Switzerland throughout three centuries and included many different regional styles, today it is all referred to as _**Bauernmalerei**_. In the United States we often call it "Bavarian Folk Art" because Bavaria is the largest area in Germany where this art can be found.


	17. Chapter 17

**Seventeen**

Helga was still working the rolling pin when Giselle retuned. "Vhat you got dere?" She wanted to know.

"Hair pins und lavender _wasser_," the girl answered in partial lie. She was halfway up the stairs before Helga found the wherewithal to order a disclosure of the contents in the brown paper wrapping, but her demand came too late.

Lettie had been pacing the floor waiting for her sister's return. Giselle dropped the contents of her plunder on the dressing table and Lettie picked up each item one by one to study them. Truth be told she had little idea how to use the cosmetics.

Cautiously, she opened up the rouge pot first and stuck her forefinger in the creamy red substance. She looked from finger to sister, "Now vhat?"

"Vell … put dab on cheeks."

She did, although it was a might more than a dab.

"Rub it round."

She did, and it seemed to gain in color and volume the more she rubbed.

"Vipe it off! You look like circus clown."

She did, but the red cream left a crimson stain in its aftermath.

"Don't rub so hard Lettie, you make it vorse!"

Tears formed pools in Leticia's eyes.

"I know," Giselle said, in an effort to calm her sister and remedy the situation, "Put da face powder on."

She did, and that seemed to mask the effect of the rouge and both girls could see some vague semblance of Miss Kitty's milky complexion appear. The tension eased. "Here," Giselle said holding the kohl stick out to Lettie.

Lettie took the stick and with shaky hand outlined her eyes and pale brows. Looking at her reflection, she exclaimed in horror, "_Auch du Gott_!"

Giselle kept her voice calm despite a sinking feeling in her belly, "It's just because you are not used to seeing yourself looking like dis, _liebchen_. Let's see vhat ve can do vith da hair." She opened up the pomade and laid out the hair pins, she brought forth the curling irons and lit the candle for the purpose of heating the rods. In truth, Dr. Adams preparing a patient for surgery could not have taken more care and deliberation than did the sixteen year old girl as she readied her sister for the final phase of her beauty make-over.

**GS GS GS GS**

For Matt Dillon, preparations had not gone much better. He was hurting from the fight and his wounded arm throbbed. He had half a mind to take some of the pain powder Doc had given him, but he resisted, knowing he had to keep his wits about him especially while he was at the office.

Mid-morning, he released the cowpokes from Lazy Q and Lonesome U, but kept Butler and Bates in jail.

"You ain't got no call, Dillon …" Butler hollered from behind bars, while Bates added several colorful expletives for effect.

"Got all the call I need - assault and battery for one …" Matt said as he shut the dividing door. The closure did little to muffle the noise.

"How long you aim to keep 'em locked up Matthew?" Festus asked.

"Long enough to figure out if they're involved with the Sharlow Brothers."

"You think Butler and Bates are rustlin'?"

"Might be. Might be more than that … I've got a wire off to Wichita that should bring some answers."

He left Festus to deal with the prisoners, while he spent the better part of the early afternoon at Wally's getting a shave and bath, his second in as many days. He hadn't been this clean in years. Back at the boarding house he stood in front of his clothes cabinet studying the meager components of his wardrobe. He didn't have many options and it wasn't like he could run down to Lathrop's and buy ready to wear like most normal sized fellows. His one courting jacket had been specially tailored for him more years ago than he cared to count. Before her death, when they were planning the wedding, Kitty had convinced him it was time to buy a suit and he'd actually made the trip to Kitty's dress maker to be measured for the jacket. He'd never returned to see if Miss Helgemoe had finished the work.

He pulled the gray flannel tweed from the hanger. It smelled. Someone had taken the time to stick naphtha up the sleeves and in the pockets. Most likely Ma, she made it a practice to tidy his room and would think nothing of taking a few extra measures toward protecting his clothes from moths. The jacket stunk so bad it nearly brought tears to his eyes. He thought again of the jacket at Helgemoe's Dress Shop and finally decided it was worth a chance to see if she'd taken the time to sew the garment.

He'd always felt like an odd duck in the dressmaker's shop. Everything was scaled down to the size of a petite woman, thus it seemed to him, he was entering a doll house. Why, he even had to bend his neck to get through the door.

Miss Helgemoe was at the counter handing several parcels over to the town dowager, Edsel Pry. This surprised him because it seemed to him every time he saw the formidable lady she was dressed in the same items of clothing. Maybe she had decided it was time for a change, he reasoned.

Miss Pry had been a thorn in his side for years. She was the type of woman who could make a grown upstanding man feel like an ill-disciplined child with just the force of her stare. She had spent the last twenty years doing just that, so now, even without eye contact the Marshal felt like a naughty school boy in her company. "Miss Pry." he greeted and somewhat belatedly removed his hat.

Her voice was hard, direct and decidedly off key, "Didn't expect to see you here Marshal. I understand you've got yourself a date."

"Yes ma'am."

"Leticia Krump. She's a might young, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Talk is this has something to do with a list Kitty Russell left for you."

"Yes ma'am," he'd learned years earlier, the shorter his answer to Miss Pry the better.

The older woman's eyes narrowed over her beak like nose, and her stare actually softened, "The important thing is, you find a suitable mother for the child. I suppose it doesn't matter her age, as long as she does right by the little girl." Miss Pry gathered her packages and bid the dressmaker, "adieu." She paused in front of the door waiting for Dillon to open it for her when he did she nodded her head, and said, almost under her breath, "Good luck."

Miss Helgemoe smiled sympathetically at Dillon, and he asked, "Does every one in town know about the list?"

Mary nodded, "Most folks, the gossipy ones at least. I'm afraid you're high entertainment at the moment. Why, I'm guessing Halleran and Burke are busy making book on who's going to be the lucky lady to win out."

He scowled. She continued, "How can I help you?"

"I was wondering about that jacket you measured me for."

Her eyes widened, "Oh my, I nearly forgot about that! I have it in the back somewhere with a couple dresses I started for Miss Kitty. If I remember right, I just need to mark and sew on the buttons. Just a moment, I'll get them." She hustled out a door behind the counter and scurried back a few minutes later with a sheet wrapped bundle of garments, which she laid on the counter. She pulled aside the sheet revealing an ice blue satin and brocade dress, that Kitty had chosen to be her wedding gown, beneath that was a black traveling suit, trimmed with small pink satin ruffles at the modest neck and on the shepherd sleeves. Mary set these aside, "Perhaps, I can fashion dresses for your little girl from the fabric?"

He nodded. There was a lump in his throat.

"Here we are. Two dress shirts, one blue and one white and the jacket and vest … I'd forgotten about the vest, but I remember Kitty insisted on it." She looked over the shirts and smiled, seeing they were finished and ready for wear. Then she picked up the jacket and vest. "Marshal, if you wouldn't mind trying these on, I'll mark where the buttons should be and sew them on for you." Like Kitty's traveling suit, his jacket was black, but with a pinstripe pattern which accentuated the long lines of his arms and torso. The vest was a masculine brocade in a rich burgundy shade. Both were of fine material and the most stylish articles of clothing Dillon had ever worn. With the jacket and vest on, Miss Helgemoe set about righting the position of the shoulders and adjusting the hang. "It appears you've lost some weight since I first measured you. But, the sleeve length is fine and I can sew the buttons over to take up some of the slack." It took another thirty minutes of waiting around the dress shop while Miss Helgemoe did the alterations and serviced her customers.

Among the clientele coming in and out the shop, there were several curious expressions, but no one else broached common etiquette and questioned him about his date. As he gathered his packages to leave, Miss Helgemoe asked, "What about Miss Kitty's dresses?"

"Do what you think best." he answered, which was really no answer at all. When the door shut behind him, she wrapped them back in the sheet and returned them to the storage room.


	18. Chapter 18

**Eighteen**

He left the dress shop weighed down by grief, although he would not have identified it as such. His heart ached. He glanced to the right where the cemetery loomed on the far horizon and for three steps adjusted his course in that direction. But, his heart was angry too, and for the time being, it was that emotion which outweighed sorrow.

Matilda was at Ma's kitchen table when he came in the back door. She looked up at him, cookie in hand, silent of voice, and waited to see what he would say before committing any verbal overture toward him.

Ma was the one who broke the silence - nodding at his parcels, "Looks like you've been doing some shopping, Marshal."

He answered with a cranky voice, "Got a new suit jacket, seems the old one smelled like naphtha balls."

Ma was defensive, "Why there's nothing wrong with that smell. Show's a garment is properly looked after." Ma defended. "If you sat down to Sunday Meeting more often you'd know that!"

"That stuff'll kill you, it's a wonder half the congregation hasn't succumbed to moth ball poisoning."

"Why that tain't so, my wool foxtail cloak is always packed in naphtha, don't do me any harm."

"Don't do the moths any good does it? Why do you think you use it … it's lethal … should be a law against it."

It was during this exchange in conversation that Matilda made escape out the same door her father had come in. She scurried down the porch steps and darted to the garden to hide her self behind the overgrowth. She liked Ma's back yard, in which grew everything from vegetables and herbs to all sorts of sweet-smelling blooming flowers. There was a table and benches at the far end of the garden and in the lushness of late springtime this seemed like a magic fairyland to the little girl. It was her destination, but to her dismay she saw that it was currently occupied by Mrs. Heitzer and her grandson Herbie. She was about to dash away when the old lady noticed her. "Matilda, come join us." She invited.

Herbie piped up, "Yeah, we're playing Happy Jack … you wanna play too?"

The Grandma and Grandson were seated opposite one another with a deck of cards on the wood table between them. "I don't know how." Matilda admitted.

"It's not complicated," Grandma Heitzer encouraged, "come sit down," She patted the space next to her on the wood bench. "We'll teach you how.

So Matilda climbed up beside the old lady and across from her classmate Herbie. She was given five cards, one at a time. "Take a look at your hand, dear."

But when Matilda put down the cards to examine her fingers, Mrs. Heitzer gently clarified. "The cards you are given, or dealt are referred to has your hand."

She studied the cards, there were pictures of bears and monkeys, in black and cats and dogs in red, each was numbered or lettered in the corner. There was also a card depicting a clown whose name was Jack. "Happy Jack," Herbie offered, "is wild."

"That means he can be any card you want him to be. It's a good thing to have Happy Jack in your hand." Grandma Heitzer clarified.

It took a few rounds before Matilda caught on to the game, but after that the little girl found out she had a certain aptitude for card playing.

Back in Ma's kitchen, when they realized Matilda had fled, Mrs. Smalley suggested Matt go after her.

Dillon shook his head. "If she wants me, she knows where to find me."

"Aren't you even going to ask about her school day."

"Why? Did she get in trouble again?"

"No!" Ma's voice raised an indignant pitch, "Let me tell you, you can't always go about expecting the worst outa the child."

"When that's all you get, it's hard to expect anything better." His scowl intensified, "Don't forget, I won't be down for supper tonight, I'll be going out."

"Oh, I remember all right, you got yourself a date."

He answered with a grunt and left the kitchen.

Thus, it was in Ma's dining room that evening that Matilda ate without her father, but her teacher was seated next to her, and she was going to help Matilda with her reading after the dishes had been cleared away and Mr. and Mrs. Heitzer were across the table and she knew Grandma Heitzer was a nice lady and to prove that point, the old gal offered the little girl a friendly smile. So, Matilda thought … if that Doody-head Matt Dillon, didn't want to see her, it was just fine by her, because she was finding her way in the world all by herself.

He stood in front of the mirror atop his dresser, he had to bend at the knees to get a good view. He'd seen what the vest and jacket looked like at the dress shop, so all he really needed to know was if his string tie was hanging straight and his hair was properly combed. A smile passed his lips, without his being aware of it. "Oh, Miss Kitty you woulda loved to see me in this getup." He gave the brocaded vest a tug, "I look like some shifty riverboat gambler, all I need is a nine inch cigar to finish off the look."

He left out the kitchen door, stealthily tiptoeing his 6'6" frame past the dining room doors, and no one other than Miss Tuttwell was the wiser. She had glanced up from her pea soup to see the elegantly clad backside of the Marshal disappear behind the doorway.

He decided to take the back route to the _bakeria,_ going through Ma's yard to get to the alley behind. As he walked along the garden path it hit him; he should bring Leticia some flowers, and so, he hastily picked a small bouquet, figuring he'd settle up with Ma later. He cringed inwardly knowing that lady would have something to say about the whole thing.

Even taking the alley he met up with a good number of Dodge City citizens. He should have worn the mothballed jacket. At least he could have avoided some of the stares and snickers.

The sound of Baker Krump reprimanding his daughter was audible a nearly a block away. Interesting Dillon thought, how the German language seemed to carry better than any other. The closer he got the better his understanding of the argument, for even without knowing more than a handful of German words, he knew Leticia had been in the face paint.

Little Helmut, Matilda's classmate, opened the back kitchen door at first knock. The most Americanized of the clan he spoke almost without accent. "Hi!" he offered cheerfully. "Leticia painted her face und glued her hair, und Papa says she can't leave the house until she changes her dress und vashes her face und combs out da glue."

Matt looked up to see Leticia, fiery cheeked, eye kohl running, hair indeed glued in some sort of absurd style, that even he knew was on the wrong side of fashion, standing in humiliation in the face of her father's angry tirade.

Leticia, seeing Dillon witness her mortification, dashed up the stairs with hysterical sobs. _Tante_ Helga lumbered up after her.

Baker Krump raised his hands in supplication, "Raising da girls vithout da mutter … is not goot ting." he slowly shook his head, "I vill talk vit her … " Although it was clear from his voice, he had not the slightest idea what to say.

"Mr. Krump, I'll go …"

Moving to block entry to the stairway, the baker ordered, "Auch … _nicht_, not to her _schlafzimmer_ ."

"I think I can help …"

Krump considered for a moment and then nodded and stepped aside. So Matt Dillon, with flowers in hand, went up the narrow stairs to the girls bedroom, with the Krump sisters at his heels, until their father ordered sternly, "_Stehen bleiben_!"

Leticia was laying face down on her bed, sobbing into her pillow. Helga had filled the washbasin and set it on the bedside table, "Come … ve take off da _gesichtsfarbe_ . Den you vill look like our own little _frauline_ again."

"Go … a … way." Leticia hiccupped between sobs.

Dillon handed the floral bouquet to Helga, his voice was low, "You go on now Helga, I'll take care of this."

Helga could have swooned just for the fact Matt Dillon had said her name, but instead she curtsied and left the bedroom, shoving the rest of her nieces, who were still waiting on the stairs, despite their father's command, down the steps in front of her.

"You … go … away … too." Lettie said as Dillon sat down on the bed beside her.

He tried to sound understanding, but his words came out gruff, "I'm not going Lettie … come on now, sit up … I want to talk to you. "

Reluctantly she did. With thumb and forefinger he turned her face to look at him. His frown eased. He shook his head ruefully, "Lettie, look at us … you with your pretty face hidden behind paint; me, dressed like an eastern dude, both of us trying to be something we're not …" he reached to the water basin and removed the dampened cloth, raising it to wipe the running kohl from her eyes.

She looked at him then, in his fancy vest and pinstriped jacket. The lines of her mouth raised slightly. "_Ja_, you look very handsome … but you do not look like Matt Dillon."

He ran the cloth down her cheek and brushed it across her full red lips in an effort to remove the rouge. Young Lettie's pulse quickened and for several heartbeats she held his eyes captive. A mix of emotions propelled her forward until their lips met. It was a tentative connection, testing in nature, expectant, frightened, yet buoyed by hope.

He pulled away before the kiss had the opportunity to ripen. Sadness swept across his countenance and he took a deep breath to will it away. He placed the washcloth in the girl's hand, and tried to smile, "You turn yourself back into Leticia Krump, and I'll change back to Matt Dillon. I'll be back in half an hour."

She nodded her reply.

Little lines fanned out from the far corners of his eyes, "You don't mind mothballs do you?" he asked as he ducked out the doorway.


	19. Chapter 19

**Nineteen**

It was a warm night. The window was open in the bedroom. A gentle breeze coaxed a flutter from the white muslin curtains. Moonbeams played with the shadows and danced across the floor and the beat of chirping crickets gave rhythm to the evening tide. Leticia lay in bed, her sisters were sleeping, she could hear their gentle snores along with the louder nocturnal snorts and grunts coming from Tante Helga's partitioned corner. Lettie however, was plagued by a racing mind - her thoughts too full of the day's events for slumber or moonbeams to find her.

Disappointment proved the main inhibitor of sleep. Dillon had smelled of mothballs and the odor reminded Leticia of the Ladies Aid Society's monthly meeting. He had warned her, but the words didn't prepare her for the fact. He'd smelled like a church wife.

She scolded herself for being negative and tried to think of something positive to hang on to. Going to Rachel's house with a trophy like Matt Dillon on her arm had been most enjoyable. Oh, the jaws of her dear girlfriends had dropped at his presence. But the thing was, and this had surprised her … he seemed old, even the kiss on her bed had reminded her of kissing her father good night. The Marshal had been without passion, in fact she had felt barely a pucker of response on his part. Absent was the spark she had felt with other beaus. She exhaled loudly and rolled over on her side. Here she had the opportunity to fulfill her heart's desire and she found it was really not what she wanted. Another man came to mind. She thought of Jackson Holmes. Jack, a young gentleman only a few years older than she - lean and blond and tan with dreamy hazel eyes and a slow smile which melted her heart. Why she had paid no notice to him before this evening, she did not know, but now just the thought of him sent excited tremors through her body. He had brought her a glass of punch when Dillon had left her side to settle a minor disturbance between two of the partygoers. Jack had been utterly charming, he made her smile, he made her feel like a woman and not a little girl. "Oh Jack." she thought and gave her pillow a hug.

**GS GS GS GS**

Dillon had a headache, this one different from the hangover that had plagued him half that morning. He was worn out. Standing at his clothes cupboard, he removed his jacket and hung it on the hanger. He had half a suspicion Ma's mouth balls were the reason for the throbbing at his temples. He moved to the bed and sat down to pull off his boots. Even that small effort exhausted him. His arm hurt and he remembered the pain powder Doc had given him. He got back up, took the powder out of his dresser drawer and emptied it into a glass of water, downing the contents in one gulp. It would act fast. He knew from experience.

He glanced at the connecting door. He should check on Matilda before the medication took effect. After all, he did have an obligation to Kitty's daughter. His stocking footsteps were never-the-less heavy on the floor, but he made the effort to be quiet as he opened the door and moved to the child's bed. A kerosene lamp was burning low, casting a dim light on the little girl, who watched with veiled eyes as he approached. She had her doll beside her and both doll and child's hair stuck up on end in a wild display, which could only indicate a rough night. It was with some surprise that he saw Miss Tuttwell, sleeping at an awkward angle in the rocking chair beside the bed. She was still in her day clothes.

Sydney Elvira opened her eyes to see the Marshal looking down at her. She was quick to get her wits about her, "Matilda had a bad dream, I was walking past the door and heard the child cry out. I stayed with her until she fell back to sleep. Now that you're here. I will retire to my own room." She glanced at the little girl, and her voice softened, "Matilda, remember what I told you." The edge returned, "Mr. Dillon, good evening." Miss Tuttwell stood, aligned her backbone and abruptly left the room.

"What did she tell you?" he asked, when she was gone.

He heard the teacher's voice in the girl's answer and put it down to Matilda's talent for mimicking, "The only power a bad dream has over us is the power we allow it to have."

He nodded, he was beginning to get drowsy, but again felt obligated to pursue the subject, "Do you want to talk about your nightmare?"

She sat up in bed and offered a challenge, "Only if you want to talk about your date."

He didn't, but guessed he owed her some sort of answer, "We went to a party at Miss Lettie's friend's house. We pulled taffy and drank punch. Not much else to tell."

Matilda fingered the red hair of her doll, "Did you have fun?"

He nodded his head, but couldn't well up the enthusiasm for an oral reply. "What about the nightmare?" he queried. His eyes were very heavy now, and he sat down on her bed from sheer weariness.

"You really want to know?"

"Yup." he replied with a yawn.

"It was about you."

"Me?"

She nodded.

"What about me?", a surge of guilt attacked him, maybe the kid was having nightmares about the spanking he'd given her.

"Well …" she hesitated, "you sure you want to hear this?"

"I said so, didn't I?"

She sighed, and looked at him in the muted light. When she spoke, her voice held a trace of anger as well as a degree of accusation, "You were dead … you were in the middle of the street, and you were bleeding and you were dead … and I was alone … no Miss Kitty, no Matt Dillon … no anyone … just alone and I was scared …"

He swallowed hard fully awake now, for Matilda's bad dream had been Kitty's nightmare as well.

"I wanted to run to you. But someone was holding me back … I kept crying for you … "

His lips went dry and he ran his tongue over them, but that was dry too, "Mattie," he said, and the word came out as a sweeter sound than he'd ever uttered before, "What Miss Tuttwell told you, it's true, the only power that dream has is what you give it. I'm here with you, I'm not going any where. You're not alone."

She nodded. For this once, he'd told her what she needed to hear. She smiled a little, "I'm tired, can I go to sleep now?"

"Yes, you can."

"Will you stay until I do?"

"Yes." He got up and eased his frame into the rocking chair Miss Tuttwell had vacated. He watched as Matilda gathered her doll in her arms and closed her eyes. He watched as her breathing became slow and even indicating she'd fallen asleep. He closed his eyes too, but he didn't fall asleep for any aspect of drowsiness had forsaken him. He understood now, in no uncertain terms the reasons for Kitty's mandate that he find a wife.


	20. Chapter 20

**TWENTY**

A Sunday dinner at the Krump house was Matt and Lettie's next and final date. On that occasion Matilda accompanied him. While the little girl had a good time with Helmut and the rest of the baker's children, it was clear to Matt that Lettie did not. After they'd eaten their meal, she confessed to him, "I like you, und perhaps a part of me vill avays love you … but …" They were sitting in wooden chairs under the grape arbor at the rear of the bakeria. She lowered her head and studied a speck on her skirt. She took a deep breath before continuing, for it is always difficult to let go a dream. "I tink you are too old for me. I am not ready to be mutter, especially to child da age of my own little brother. I tink ve vill be friends." She looked up at him and smiled in full dimple. "You vill find da lady dat makes you happy, und if you need someone to talk wit, den you come to me. Ja? I vill have coffee und da kuchen und ve will talk."

He nodded, smiled and agreed, "Ja." His smile, weak though it was, still had power over her and she wondered briefly if she would ever be completely over Marshal Matt Dillon. She decided silently she would not and she was content with that knowledge.

The young heart has great resiliency. The next day he saw her snuggled up to Jackson Holmes as the pair headed out of town for a picnic in one of Hank's rented buggies. He guessed he should feel some sense of rejection, but the only emotion he felt was relief.

**GS GS GS GS**

A period of respite hit the cattle town and Dodge was relatively quiet with the only area of uneasiness being the Moon Bar boys, Ricky Bates and Ralph Butler. Investigative work on Matt's part had supported what he'd suspected. Ricky Bates and two other ranch hands working at Moon Bar were tied in with the Sharlow Gang. Although he didn't have hard proof, he was certain Butler was in on it too. With Judge Brooker in town a speedy trial was eminent, held up only by the arrival of an attorney Susan had hired from Topeka.

It was no surprise to Dillon when Susan Barts stormed in his office a day or two later. With out preamble, she pounded her fist on his desk, "I demand you drop the charges and let my men go."

On this day, there was nothing soft left of Susan Barts. She'd given the last 15 years of her life to running her father's ranch - Moon Bar. She'd developed the muscles of a cowhand, her face was weathered from years in the sun and her hair pulled back left no trace of the soft curls which had framed her face in youth. Still, it couldn't be denied she was a handsome woman. Dressed in a calf length split skirt, with matching leather jacket, black boots and a silver trimmed Stetson, she made any man look twice.

He shook his head, "I can't do that. They've broken the law."

"I need them Matt, I'm shorthanded as it is, if I lose them, at this time of the year, I'm in real trouble."

"We have evidence they've been stealing cattle from both the Lonesome U and Ted Honecker's place … most likely from you too, you're better off without them. Look Susan, if we can prove they're part of Sharlow's gang … it goes deeper yet …"

She tried to relax her voice and soften the contours of her mouth, but the edge was hard to lose, "Surely our years of friendship must mean something? I'll be responsible for them … put them in my custody."

"Can't do it, the law's the law. The best I can promise is a fair trial."

Her eyes thinned, until they were as shards of glass, sharp and dangerous. He wondered fleetingly how he could ever have found them inviting. Her voice held a bite, "You never change do you? The law." She spat the word from the distaste it caused in her mouth. "it's all you care about, the law and that damn badge you're so proud of. What has it ever gotten you … what do you have to show for all the years you've dedicated to it?"

Susan Barts functioned under her own code of ethics, in truth, he'd been aware of it back when he'd first come to know her. He'd never been able to get through to her thick skull what duty and honor meant to him; he wasn't sure it was worth the effort to try at this late date. However, he stood and took her elbow in hand, propelling her to the window. "Take a good look out there Susan, and then remember what this all was twenty years ago." A small town in the east couldn't have looked more civilized. Farm wagons rolled benignly down the street. Young mothers walked with toddlers at the hand. Old folks went about their business, stopping in the general store, and having coffee at Delmonico's. School bells and church bells rang in the distance. "Take a look. That's what I've got to show for it. Seems a fair reward to me."

"Like I said, you never change." She pulled her elbow away and looked in his face, "They say Kitty saddled you with a brat. It figures, I'm just surprised its only one … what I'm wondering, is how come you're so sure it's yours?"

If she were a man, he'd a killed her, or come just short of it, "Get out, Susan."

She smiled, satisfied she'd hit her mark. "You'll pay you know … if my boys go to prison, you'll pay."

"That a threat?"

She blew air through her nose, and shook her head, "You might say it's just a neighborly warning between old friends."


	21. Chapter 21

**Twenty-one**

The trial took place two days later, when attorney Wallace Dodds arrived from the capital to defend Susan's employees - a fact which made Dillon question just what was Susan's motivation in seeing that her employees were set free. The trial dragged on longer than it should have, given the evidence Matt had accumulated. In the end the Moon Bar hands, Ricky Bates, Ralph Butler, along with Quinton Klauer, and Toby Trenton were all found guilty and sentenced to five years at State Prison.

With the trial going on Dillon didn't have much time to devote to Kitty's daughter. He wasn't aware how hard she worked at learning how to read and write. He wasn't aware of the time Miss Tuttwell spent in the evenings after supper with the child, patiently giving instruction and offering encouragement.

The effort paid off, for Matilda did well at school, stayed out of Mr. Groendyke's sparse hair and with the help of Miss Tuttwell her reading and writing skills were soon equal to the best student in the second grade. If only she hadn't decided to borrow Herbie Heitzer's deck of Happy Jack cards and bring them to school for some recess fun during that last week before summer break.

Herbie spent every other Tuesday and Wednesday with his Grandparents at the boarding house. It cut down on the five mile trip to his family's farm. On those days, he and Matilda played in Ma's back yard, climbing trees, skipping rocks in the creek that bordered the property, and playing Happy Jack with Grandma Heitzer. Reading and writing weren't the only areas Matilda was gaining proficiency in. She became so skilled at the card game that she almost always won. She had a knack for counting cards in her head and predicating the odds of a winning hand.

With three days left of the school term there wasn't much for the students to do. School books had been packed away, the desks had been scrubbed clean with soapy water and recess grew longer and longer.

So Matilda got a game of Happy Jack going at noon recess. It was Herbie's idea to play for money. He had five pennies in his pocket. Matilda had nine, and she happily donated two of her pennies to Annie Sager, the little girl in homespun who had one penny and Helmut Krump who had two. Now this would have been a friendly game with just the aforementioned participants and most likely no one would have gone home the poorer. The problem arose when Angel Louise Bodkin decided she wanted to play. Now Angel had pockets full of pennies and the thought never entered her mind to share with those less fortunate than herself. Matilda had been striving to be nice to Angel Louise and it was to this aim that she offered no objection to Angel joining their friendly little card game.

Had they been world wise or a year or two older, the young friends would have played their game at the far corner of the school yard, where adult supervision was minimal, even still had they stayed where they were first located, on the far side of the swings they may not have been detected. But Angel Louise insisted they move their game to the front schoolhouse steps, so she wouldn't have to sit on the ground.

Providence did not seem to be a fan of Matilda, for Mr. Groendyke happened upon the scene just as Matilda was scooping up the kitty which contained the full allotment of everyone's pennies. It had been her practice to redistribute the wealth after each of her victories, but that knowledge did not stop Angel Louise from bursting into tears and weeping loudly about the loss of her coins.

Seeing a game of fortune taking place on the hallowed steps of his school house, the principal's face turned red and a large purple vein bulged and throbbed across his forehead, his eyeballs swelled from their sockets. His voice thundered forth, "What have we here!" He demanded. "Cartomancy? Gambling? Practicing the devil's own Bible! Card playing - the diversion of whoremongers and idolaters, sorcerers, changelings, and murderers!" He reached down and grabbed Matilda's little ear, hard, startling her. "Owie!" she squealed. "You're hurting me."

"Silence!" The principal ordered and drew back his free arm as if to strike the child. Matilda cringed, and instinctively swung back her leg and kicked him in the shin, hard. Groendyke dropped his hold for a second and Matilda made a run for it, but she was caught by the large ribbon around her waist. His visage became possessed. Like a madman, he swung her under his arm and stormed into the building, declaring as he went, 'I knew you would bring nothing but evil for evil begets evil."

Angel gave a satisfied smile to the remaining card players. She bent down and helped herself to all the pennies. "I would have won you know, Matilda was cheating, how else could she have played so well!"

Little Helmut Krump stared at the school house door even after it had closed, he may have been only eight and slightly on the plump side, but within the lad lurked the stalwart heart of a hero. "Ve gotta help Matilda." He said.

Herbie nodded, and Annie, who despite her humble appearance, possessed as valiant a spirit as any, ordered, "Come on." She started running from the school yard, stringy pigtails flying behind her, calico flour sack skirt flapping about her thin legs. She ran into the street that merged with Front. The boys watched her with mouths open and looked at each other and then followed her, and when they had caught up, Helmut wanted to know. "vhere ve going?"

Breathlessly Annie replied, still on the run, "To get her Papa of coarse, we're going to get her Pa."

The jail house was quiet, the prison wagon had just picked up the Moon Bar hands to escort them off to Topeka. Deputy Hagen was making rounds and Matt Dillon had himself settled at his desk, fresh coffee in hand, to view the latest batch of Wanted Posters. It was at this precise moment in time that the door flew open with such force that it rebounded against the wall several times, rattling windows and even the jail keys which hung from a hook on the far wall. The startled lawman, juggled his coffee mug, nearly dropping the cup, while the hot liquid contents sloshed over the sides and onto the Wanted Posters.

He recognized Helmut and Herbie of course, and had a vague recall of little Annie, "What's going on here? Shouldn't you children be in school?" he demanded in a watered down version of his official Marshal voice.

"He's … gonna … kill her!" Annie said between deep gulps of air. "Mr. … Groendyke's … gonna kill her."

"Kill who?" Matt asked standing up and reaching for the dirty rag, that served as both potholder and hand towel, to sop up the sloshed coffee.

"Matilda." Herbie said taking a step forward.

"Ja … he gonna kill Matilda for sure. Ve got to hurry. Come."

Dillon tried to disguise the sense of exasperation he was feeling. "What did she do this time?" He asked as he grabbed his hat and held open the door for the trio of seven year olds.

"Ve vere playing Happy Jack. Matilda shared her pennies."

The children had to run to keep pace with Matt's long stride, "You were playing with money? You were gambling?"

"It was more funner that way Mr. Dillon, and Matilda made sure everyone had pennies."

"Yup, until Angel Louise wanted to play."

The story unraveled and by the time they'd reached the schoolhouse, Dillon had pieced together the evidence to have a clearer perspective of the crime.

He entered the school house, and proceeded to Mr. Groendyke's office. He could hear the school master's voice and that of Miss Tuttwell who was apparently arguing with him in the most passionate of voices.

He opened the door without a knock to hear Groendyke declare, "Miss Tuttwell, your services are no longer required in this school. You are dismissed from employment."

It was then he noticed his daughter hiding behind Miss Tuttwell's skirt. "What's going on here." Matt demanded. He noticed a switch in Groendyke's right hand.

"Your child was gambling. I am preparing to execute punishment. Miss Tuttwell is interfering."

"You going to use that stick on Matilda?"

"I assure you Marshal, spar the rod and spoil the child, is an adage, all too true. A child with Matilda's bad blood, must be kept in check by the strongest means possible."

"She's just a little girl, she didn't know what she was doing."

His voice sang out with a protracted vibrato tenor, "Oh she knew … "

"You were going to beat her … "

"I would inflict upon her no worse punishment than she has to me." He bent, and pulled up his pant leg to reveal a bruised and bleeding shin. "She assaulted me with her foot!"

Dillon glanced at Miss Tuttwell. "You stepped in to stop him … ?"

"I do not feel children should be subjected to corporal punishment in school. That particular form of discipline should be left to the parents to administer."

"He fired you?"

"Yes he did, so if you will excuse me. I will pack up my belongings and return to the boarding house. Matilda, I will see you later."

"See here, Madam, you can not leave now, what about your classroom … who will watch the children?"

"Sir, perhaps you should have considered that before you fired me." she squared her frame and left the room.

Matt turned to his daughter, "You, come with me." and the Marshal proceeded to march Matilda from the building and through the crowd of children waiting at the schoolhouse doors.


	22. Chapter 22

**Twenty-two**

As they walked the street father and daughter were quiet, but half way home Matilda reached up and grabbed his hand wiggling her little fingers into his grasp. Matt returned the squeeze and looked down at her, for a brief moment he saw her mother in the child's freckled features. "I didn't know I was doing something wrong." She told him in a small voice.

"I know." It was a balmy spring day with a gentle breeze scenting the air with lilacs and growing grass. It was a day like this, just a year ago that he and Kitty went fishing down by Silver Creek. Inspiration hit him.

"Do you like to fish?" He asked.

"I've never gone fishing." She replied. "How do you do it?"

"Well, you get a fishing pole with a line and hook on it. You stick a worm on the hook, put it in the water and wait for the fish to bite."

"Doesn't sound like much fun for the worm."

He smiled, "Never thought of it that way. You think you'd like to give it a try?"

"Me 'n you?"

"Uh huh."

"Where do we get the worms?

"We'll dig for them."

"Can I do the digging?"

"Not afraid of worms?

"Na ahhh … should I be?"

There was something in the constitution of his daughter that was earning his respect, "Nope, a worm can't hurt you. Maybe Ma would pack us a lunch."

"Like a picnic, like a real picnic?" She stopped walking and pulled his hand so that he stopped walking too, "Don't you have to be a marshal today?"

The breeze toyed with her curly red hair, his heart reacted and his face responded with a poignant smile, "Today, we'll both play hooky."

"Like a real picnic … " she said again with wonder akin to the anticipation of presents under a Christmas tree. To Matilda Dillon few words in her vocabulary drew a more magical picture than that of a picnic, for it painted mind images of mothers and fathers and children laughing and happy together. She'd seen such spectacles in New Orleans, once with her mother and several times with an orphan friend from the convent named Emily.

**GS GS GS GS **

Matilda was helping Ma pack up the sandwiches while Matt gave a brief narrative of Matilda's confrontation with Mr. Groendyke. That was when Miss Tuttwell came in the back door. She was carrying a large pile of books and paper, along with a chipped flower vase, and her handbag. Her face was red and there was sweat dripping from her long thin nose. It was clear from the glare she gave in the marshal's direction that her mood was foul.

"One might have presumed, after one had declared her intention to pack up her belongings, that one might have had some assistance waiting for one."

Dillon huffed back at her, "If one wanted some help, one should have asked."

"Humpf."

"Miss Tuttwell, we're going fishing, wanna come?" Matilda asked.

"Matilda, you should be studying your lessons."

There was a light to the child's eyes that the teacher had not noticed before, and it caught her off guard.

"Miss Tuttwell … pu-lease, we're going to have a real picnic too … we're packing a basket, see?"

It had been thirty years since Sydney Elvira had gone fishing. She had been not much younger than Matilda. She recalled it had been a lighthearted day spent in the company of a classmate and her family. The straight line of the teacher's tight lips relaxed allowing them to soften to a smile. Without further thought she replied, "I accept your invitation." Sydney swept her eyes to the Marshal and she caught the discomfiture in his glare.

"Now Miss Tuttwell don't feel you have to come just because Matilda asked."

She replied by adding the tension back to her mouth. "It will take me six minutes to change into appropriate garb."

"Guess you better get Kitty's buggy ready." Ma advised, "Can't see the three of you straddled altogether on that horse of yours Marshal."

He shot Ma a glare and then headed for the door to do as she advised.

He returned from the stable with Kitty's buggy twenty-three minutes later. He'd picked up three fishing poles from the storage closet in the back of the jailhouse, along with a tin can and a small spade for digging worms. Miss Tuttwell and Matilda were waiting for him on the front porch steps. Sydney had changed her brown dress for a brown skirt and tailored shirtwaist and Matilda appeared to be wearing a pair of boy's patched overalls and scuffed play shoes.

He grabbed the picnic basket, held out a hand to assistant Miss Tuttwell into Kitty's carriage and then lifted his daughter to sit beside the teacher. He was relieved to find Matilda chose the spot in the middle.

It was a warm and languid late spring day. Along the board walk, chairs had been arranged outside the businesses so patrons and shop keepers could enjoy the sunshine. On a day such as this, all the comings and goings of locals and strangers became high entertainment. So it came as no surprise that Front Street, Dodge City made notice of the occupants of the late Miss Russell's carriage. Dillon heard Nathan Burke remark, as they drove by, "Looks like the Marshal skipped right down to the bottom of Miss Kitty's list."

Matt gave a sidelong glance in Miss Tuttwell's direction but the school teacher was sitting ramrod straight, nose slightly elevated, hands folded calmly in her lap giving no indication she'd caught Burke's comment.


	23. Chapter 23

**Twenty-three**

Silver Creek. Was there ever a spot closer to heaven here on earth than that lush little valley where stream and green grass flourished amid wildflower and songbird? Memories of nearly twenty years rushed over him as the buggy traveled the familiar path to the place that had been theirs for so many years. It was here he'd come to know her in a union so absolute, it had washed away sins and years. It occurred to him to drive past, and take the better traveled upper road which would lead them to the more commonly used fishing hole. But, Kitty's pony had other ideas and before he could change direction the horse was already trotting down the grassy trail.

There was a rightness he figured in bringing Matilda here, for it could have been here she was conceived and no other place seemed as clear a reflection of his true feelings for his daughter's mother. Miss Tuttwell however was another thing entirely, she had no right to be here and her intrusion to this solemn garden irked him.

Amid his reverie, Miss Tuttwell spoke up excitedly, "Look Matilda a Monarch butterfly, scientifically referred to as _panaus plexippus_. As birds do, so does the magnificent Monarch migrate both North and South on a seasonal schedule."

The orange and black butterfly fluttered past Matilda and the little girl pushed past Miss Tuttwell to jump from the buggy and chase after him to gain a better look. Miss Tuttwell sighed, wishing briefly to be as free of the spirit as the child. However she held her demeanor in check, "Do you wish to eat first, or fish Mr. Dillon?" She wanted to know.

"Huh? Can't we do both?"

"Hardly sanitary, I would suggest we eat first, while our hands are still relatively clean, after which we can proceed to fish."

"Lady, I've been fishing and eating all my life, and it hasn't done me harm."

"Just because you've avoided disaster is no reason to expose your child to risk. Modern science has proven there are disease bacteria so infinitesimal, they can not be detected by the human eye, certainly you've heard of the work of Louis Pasteur …"

He cut her off mid sentence, he had no desire for a classroom lecture, "Fine, we'll eat first, don't see why you have to make a …"

This time it was she who cut off his sentence, "Matilda, come sit down, we shall have the meal Mrs. Smalley prepared for us."

If the food was good or bad the participants of the meal hardly noticed. Miss Tuttwell had all but taken Matt's appetite away, not that he had much of one these days. Her pompous manner grated at his fragile nerves. He fumed about her company. Here he'd finally found it within himself to spend time with his child and instead he was forced to listen to Sydney Elvira Tuttwell's lectures on dirt.

As for the spinster school teacher, she wondered why she'd accepted the invitation in the first place. She pondered the matter as she took a bite of the sandwich. In truth, she supposed it was because she saw something of herself in the child. A father too wrapped up in his work and his own grief to bother with trying to understand the mind and heart of his daughter - this was the link in their shared history. How could she deny Matilda's request to join them when she feared Dillon would ignore the child and further impair her spirit, just as her own father had impaired hers?

The tension between the adults was not lost on Matilda. She sat Indian style on the ground nibbling on a quarter of sandwich. "Can we fish now?" She asked when she'd taken two bites.

"You gotta eat more than that."

"I'm full. I don't have as big a belly as you do … and it's full."

"Eat your crust." he ordered.

"I've got a loose tooth … the crust is too hard, it hurts."

He grunted, "Where'd you get those clothes?" He wanted to know, referring to her baggy patched overalls.

"They're Herbie's. Grandma Heitzer let me wear 'em. She said pretty dresses and fishing don't go together. Can I go dig for worms?"

"Yeah, go on, but stay where I can see you." Matilda jumped up, grabbed the tin can and ran down to the edge of the flowing creek. Dillon turned to his companion, "Surprised you didn't have something to say about her get up, Miss Tuttwell."

"Oh, I think it is quite appropriate Mr. Dillon, I dare say the time will come when women will wear trousers all the time. They are definitely more practical than long skirts."

He grunted, "What does a woman do that she needs pants for?"

"Mr. Dillon a woman can do most anything a man does, given the opportunity."

"So you're one of those suffragettes?"

"At this time, I am not politically active in the movement, but I do support their ideals."

"At this time?"

"My profession has kept me from participating. However, I have been an avid reader of Annie Diggs and her periodical _the Kansas Liberal_. Since I am no longer employed, perhaps the time has come for me to assume a more committed role to the cause for women's rights."

He shook his head, he could just see her, marching around the state capital, wearing bloomers and holding a picket sign with all the rest of those hard, humorless women. Oh, she'd fit right in with that crowd.

Miss Tuttwell's long skinny neck lengthened, and her arrogant nose pointed in his direction, "Women will have a say and one day women will have the vote in Kansas. You should want nothing less for your daughter sir. I dare say it is what her own mother would have wished."

He had no desire to discuss what Kitty would have wanted with Miss Tuttwell. He pushed himself to his feet, "I better help Matilda with those worms."

It wasn't that he disagreed with what the teacher was lecturing him on, he agreed that women should be treated fairly. Kitty was stronger than any man he'd ever known, but she hadn't needed to march on the state capitol to prove it. He stifled a shudder. Truly, there was never a woman so annoying as Sydney Tuttwell.

Matilda was on her haunches, she'd removed her shoes and her little toes griped into the mud as she plied the small shovel into the moist soil. She looked up when his shadow fell over her. "I got three worms, how many do we need?"

"That's a good start, but let's see if we can dig up a few more."

"I'm glad Miss Tuttwell came along, aren't you?"

"If you're glad than so am I."

**GS GS GS GS**

Matilda couldn't remember a better day in her young life. They had all sat on the river bank, each with a pole in hand. Dillon offering advise on technique, Miss Tuttwell spouting scientific names. But when Matilda got a fish on her line, both grownups jumped to their feet and cheered her on. "Oh my! Don't let him get away Matilda."

"Pull him in, thata girl … that a girl Mattie … pull him in!"

She basked in the glow of positive attention. It felt almost like a real family, just like the ones she'd wistfully watched playing on the banks of Lake Pontchartrain. Just like the families she and Emily had emulated in play on the banks of Lake Pontchartrain.


	24. Chapter 24

**Twenty-four**

That night Matt Dillon paid another visit to Kitty's grave. This time there was no moon to light his way, yet he stumbled only once in route. The darkness was in repose save for owls and crickets and other nocturnal creatures. There were many ghosts around him, both friend and foe, he paid no heed to their presence seeking only the spirit of the woman who had left him. He knelt by her gravestone, resting hand on the cold slab of granite that marked her spot. There was no warmth there, no link from past to present and no answers for his questions.

The following day Mr. Groendyke made a personal call on Sydney Elvira, begging her return to the classroom. "I implore you Miss Tuttwell, please come back. My decision to terminate your position was tempered by the child. In all honesty, I can't afford to lose a valuable teacher such as yourself over the likes of Matilda. I do understand your desire to protect the girl, but certainly she isn't worth the price you and your students will pay."

Miss Tuttwell replied, "I will give due consideration to what you've said."

"Then you're coming back?"

"I will give you my decision before the fall term. In the meantime, you are in possession of the grade book, sir, everything is up to date."

"But who shall watch the children for the remaining three days of class."

"I suspect you will sir."

Good teachers were hard to come by. Miss Tuttwell was intelligent, God fearing and not likely to attract suitors and go off and get married. He'd made a mistake and now he would have to pay the price if he wanted to woe her back in the fall.

"What about the Russell child?"

"If you are talking about Matilda Dillon. I do not believe she will return to class either. However, she has passed to the next level and I will act as a tutor, so you can not consider her truant."

Thus, the school year ended for Miss Tuttwell and her student Matilda Dillon.

**GS GS GS GS**

Myrtle McGoo was forty three years old. Her figure had taken on the relaxed shape of an over-stuffed chair. She wasn't fat but certainly on the far side of plump. With middle age, her waistline had thickened along with her neck, arms, hips and mid-drift. Her cheeks were always pleasantly flushed and her bountiful hair was snowy white. Now, to be clear, Myrtle was still a pretty lady in a motherly sort of way, and she had a warm and cheery personality. When she smiled, which she did quite often she could light up a room. She was partial to blue and most of her garments were of that hue. She was not rich, but the income from her late husband's business made her very comfortable. Her house was clean and homey. She attended church every Sunday and was a mainstay of the Ladies Aid Society. A man could do a lot worse than to take up with the Widow McGoo.

These facts were pointed out to Matt Dillon by his closest friends on an early June morning at a back table in Delmonico's.

"I thought you said she was as old as Methusala?" Dillon challenged Hagen.

Festus replied while chewing away at his breakfast bacon, "There are times I stretch the truth a might."

"Oh really."

"She makes the best pecan pie in Ford County." Newly added. "I had some at the last Church sociable."

Doc Adams volunteered, "She was mighty good to Dan. She wouldn't let him give up, her nursing kept him going long after he should have died."

Dillon shook his head, "I don't know … "

O'Brien, much younger than his counterparts offered practical wisdom, "She's got those two daughters and the oldest one has children of her own, she comes with experience."

"I never figured to court a grandma."

"She's two years younger than you." Doc stated.

Dillon took a drink from his coffee mug. He guessed Kitty had her reasons for adding Myrtle to the list, but he couldn't help but feel wherever she was that she was getting a little bit of satisfaction for putting him into this position.

With reluctant resignation, he sent a message to the widow McGoo later that morning regarding his intention to come courting and received a response that Mrs. McGoo requested the pleasure of his company along with that of his charming young daughter for dinner the following evening.

Myrtle McGoo was aware of Kitty Russell's list, most of Dodge City was. In fact she'd taken a little bit of teasing about it from her two daughters. However, she let it be known, that should the Marshal seek her attentions she would be open to his advances. However, romance did not dictate her willingness to form a permanent relationship with Matt Dillon, no, it was her nearly empty nest that prompted her ready agreement.

Her husband Dan McGoo had been co-owner of the Hinkler-McGoo Freight Company which operated out of Dodge City. His partner Dinsdale Hinkler now ran the company and his shrewd management had earned a good living for Hinkler and his former partner's widow. Myrtle lived in a very pleasant yellow house on the edge of Dodge City. The home was trimmed with white gingerbread and blue window boxes. An abundant flower garden graced the front yard, and a white picket fence surrounded the property. Kitty had remarked more than once how pleasing Myrtle's house was to her eye and perhaps that was what attracted the flamboyant saloon woman to the homey widow.

Widow Myrtle McGoo employed an elderly live in maid, Prudence Duffy, who helped with the upkeep of the house and the cooking, but it was dear Myrtle who made her house a home, for she was adept at baking, gardening and sewing. She contended that life was unfair, for just as one became skilled at the wifely arts of homemaking and mothering, her expertise was no longer necessary. The thought of little Matilda Dillon cut to her core and her heart ached with the need to mother the child.

**GS GS GS GS**

Dillon was dressed in courting jacket and holding a small bouquet of Ma Smalley's spring flowers in one hand and Matilda's thin shoulder with the other, as they waited on Myrtle McGoo's front porch for the door to be answered. The little girl stretched her neck around to try to get a good view of her surroundings. Her father gave her shoulder a firm squeeze, "Now Matilda, I don't want any funny business tonight. Do you hear me?"

She didn't have time to respond because Mrs. McGoo answered the door. She was wearing a lavender blue dress with a white lace collar and white and yellow gingham apron. Matilda thought she was a maid at first. "Come in Marshal Dillon and this must be Matilda." Her voice was sweet and her words came out like a song.

Myrtle held out her hand to the little girl, "How do you do?" She asked.

"How do I do what?" Matilda replied.

Their hostess smiled, "That's just a grown up way of saying, how are you?"

"Oh." Matilda caught the humor of the moment and gave a little giggle, "I do fine." She answered, and then gave a small curtsy for good show.

"Come in, let's sit down and get to know one another a little better." She offered her hand for Matilda to take and Matt was left to follow behind. From the very start it was clear to Dillon who the woo and wooer were and he was not part of the equation.

Myrtle escorted Matilda to the back parlor, a cozy room with large fireplace, bay window and informal furnishings. There was a great leather sofa with matching rocker and two small child size chairs. Matilda sat down on one of the small chairs and Myrtle took the rocker, placing it next to Matilda. Matt stood for a moment and then sat down on the sofa.

"Miss Mattie, I've heard so much about you."

"I heard about you too. Who's Methuselah?"

"Methuselah?" With raised eyebrow, Myrtle cast a quick glance at Dillon, the first eye contact he'd had with her since their arrival. She turned back to Matilda with that sweet smile of hers, "Mr. Methuselah was a gentleman from the Bible. We are told that he lived to be 969 years old."

Matilda's eyes grew huge, "Is that how old you are?"

"Matilda!" her father admonished.

"Well Uncle Festus said she was as old as Methuselah."

"Mrs. McGoo … I apologize, she doesn't know what she's saying …"

Matilda looked at her father and her heart sank, she'd done 'funny business', and she knew she was going to hear about it later. However, Mrs. McGoo was not upset, she only smiled and patted Matilda's hand. "That's alright dear, there are times I FEEL that old. And you might wish to point out to your Uncle Festus, should the conversation come up again, that I do believe he is older than I."

She had such a nice smile. It made her eyes light up and little dimples appear in the center of her rosy cheeks. Matilda couldn't help but emulate the action and the two sat smiling at one another for several seconds. It was at that point that Miss Prudy, the maid, entered the room carrying a tea tray which she set down on the little parlor table in front of them. This was no ordinary tea set. It was small and delicate with pretty hand painted flowers in pinks and yellows and blues. "Would you like to pour Mattie?"

"I might spill."

"If you do, we'll sop it up and try again." Myrtle smiled with her eyes and so did Matilda.

They drank the tea, which was minty in flavor and shared a plate of tiny sugar cookies in the shape of ponies, frosted in pink, and yellow and blue.

And they talked and smiled. Myrtle asked Matilda about her life at the convent, and Matt learned more about his daughter than he'd learned in the previous weeks he'd known her.

Myrtle had a way of extracting information, that was completely alien to Dillon's interrogation style. She began by saying, "When I was a little girl, my best friend was Althea Graves, we had such fun playing together, do you have a best friend Matilda?"

Matilda nodded as she bit the head off of a sugar cookie pony, she chewed quickly, swallowed hard and then answered, "My best friend is Emily, she's an orphan and has to live with the Sisters of Charity. Most times the orphans get adopted, but not Emily, cause she can't see too good. When Miss Kitty came to visit, she always brought a present for Emily too. I miss Emily."

"Oh, I'm sure you do. What was it like at the convent?"

"It was quiet. We couldn't make noise and had to talk it soft voices, but, sometimes I had to use a big voice, then I 'd get in trouble. I'd be sent to my room and have to stay there, once they made me stay there for a whole day. They brought me supper and breakfast but no one was allowed to talk to me. I was supposed to spend my time praying for forgiveness …" she glanced up at Myrtle and a twinkle danced across her countenance, "but I didn't. I played pretend and I was glad I had Miss Kitty to keep me company."

"Miss Kitty?"

The little girl's eyebrows bobbed, "Yes, my doll. My mother gave her to me. 'course the sisters didn't like it that I had Miss Kitty and the other toys she bought for me. I don't think the Sisters liked her either, especially Sister Regina, but Miss Kitty, my mother, not the doll, paid them lots of money."

"Oh my, doesn't sound like much fun for a little girl."

"Oh we had fun." Matilda leaned forward and Myrtle lowered her frame, so they were nearly face to face, "me and Emily would sneak out of the convent and go to the park by the big lake."

"You'd sneak out?"

Matilda's voice was low, like she was still concerned the nuns would discover her transgressions, "Yes'm, sometimes on Sunday afternoons. The Sisters would be at Mass and we were supposed to stay in our room and be quiet so we didn't disturb them. But, me and Emily would escape. You see we are so small we fit between the posts on the fence. Miss Kitty always made sure I had plenty of pennies when she came to visit, so me 'n Emily'd take the Omnibus down to the park by Lake Ponchartrain, that's what they call the big lake. I'd buy us a lemonade and pretzels and we'd have a picnic. There were always lots of families at the lake. Mommies and Daddies and little children, they'd have a basket with food and they'd spread out a blanket, and they'd laugh and talk and play games. I liked to watch them, sometimes Emily and I pretended we were a family too. I'd be the mama and Emily would be the little girl, or sometimes it was the other way around. Then we'd take the Omnibus back to the Sisters of Charity, slip through the fence and we'd be back in our rooms by the time the sisters called us to supper."

"You never got caught?" Dillon wanted to know.

She smiled feeling pride at her accomplishment, "Nope … never." She gave a small sigh, "I guess that's why I liked our fishing picnic so much. I wish Emily coulda been there too."

The Widow McGoo stared at Dillon and there were tears in her eyes. Matt looked away.

"May I have another cookie?" Matilda asked.

"No." said her father.

"Certainly." Said Mrs. McGoo, and her answer trumped the Marshal's for she held out the plate to Matilda.

Dinner was a savory rib roast dripping in a burgundy au jus with creamy buttery mashed potatoes and fresh asparagus and peas. Matilda had two helpings of potatoes. Mrs. McGoo told her she didn't have to eat any vegetables if she didn't want to. But Matilda ate nine peas, just to make Mrs. McGoo smile at her.

After dinner they made homemade ice cream and played dominoes, and Miss Prudy the maid, played too.

When it was time to go, Matilda gave Mrs. McGoo a big hug. And Mrs. McGoo kissed the top of Matilda's red head. "Come again soon, won't you Mattie?"

Matilda looked at her father for permission to answer and then asked him, "Can we, please?"

He nodded a reply and she said, "Yes ma'am, we'll be back soon."

**GS GS GS GS **

"I like her a lot." Matilda told her father as they walked home. "I like her a whole lot. And you know what else?"

"Humpf?" he grunted.

"She calls me Mattie … just like Miss Kitty did."

The next morning at the jailhouse, there appeared Festus, Doc and Newly. The latter of the trio, had a bag of sweetcakes from Krump's Bakeria in hand. The gift did not come free for the friends demanded details in exchange for the pastry.

"Nothing to tell." Dillon stated taking a bite of a doughnut.

"What about Matilda?" Doc wanted to know.

Matt took a swig of coffee, and wiped the residue with a backhanded swipe, "Matilda's in love. Myrtle McGoo is the mother she's never really had. What child wouldn't love her."

"So, she's the one."

For a man who'd kept his private matters to himself for most of his life the lawman was being surprisingly candid. The image of his little girl watching real families and longing to be a part of one was stuck in his mind. He shook his head slowly, and inhaled deeply, "This is all about Matilda, what makes her happy, she deserves a family."


	25. Chapter 25

**Twenty-five**

Nineteen year old Cynthia McGoo had much of her mother's sweet nature. She was fair of face with princess yellow hair and tiny waist and feet. She was marrying Douglas Bodkin, the banker's oldest son. The wedding was to be the social highlight of the summer season in Dodge City.

It so happened, Matt and Matilda's next visit to Mrs. McGoo's home on Saturday evening, three days later was for a dinner party honoring the betrothed couple. The guests included Myrtle's eldest daughter Clara Belle McGoo Feeney, her husband Felix, their children, Oliver two, and Albert six months, and Mr. and Mrs. Bodkin and their children Douglas, Phillip who was twelve and of course Angel Louise.

Matilda was very excited when her father told her they would be visiting Mrs. McGoo again. For in Mrs. McGoo she had found someone who had liked her without any determination to change her. That was a rare occurrence in the little girl's life. Mrs. McGoo was soft and warm and smelled of vanilla and lavender and fresh baked cookies. She was kind and nurturing and made Matilda feel important and loved. Yes, that was ingredient that had been missing, for the only person in her whole entire life who had treated her with the same tender devotion had been her own mother and that had been on a very part time basis only.

Miss Prudy opened the door and escorted Matt and Matilda into the formal parlor of Mrs. McGoo's home on Spring St. Matilda's heart sunk when she saw they were not the only guests that evening. They walked in to a room full of strangers along with one face she knew all too well. At the sight of Angel Louise, Matilda backed out of the parlor and her father had to drag her back into it. However, it was obvious Angel Louise had had a change of heart for she stepped forward and greeted Matilda like a long lost friend. She held out her hand to Matilda, "Cynthia is going to show us her wedding dress and my flower girl dress. I'm going to be in the wedding too. Come on!"

To clarify matters here, Angel Louise's change of heart can be best explained by the fact her father was a business man. Matt Dillon was one of his bank's largest depositors by way of the sizeable inheritance of Kitty Russell's estate. Now the fact that money was lying for the most part dormant made Mr. Bodkin nervous, he had no desire to cause any additional friction between the two families and had given Angel Louise no uncertain directives as far as her behavior toward the Dillon girl.

This knowledge may have been lost to Matilda, but Dillon immediately picked up on it when the portly banker jumped from his seat and made overtures of welcome. "Have a cigar Marshal, they're from Havana … only the best!" Not nearly so pleased to see the Marshal was Mr. Dinsdale Hinkle. Mr. Hinkle was tall and thin, with large ears and big hands and a meager but well groomed moustache. He all but glared at Matt. He offered no word of greeting. Mr. Bodkin continued, "The ladies have all adjourned upstairs to look at the bridal gown and Miss Cynthia's trousseau, leaving us men to fend for ourselves until dinner is ready."

Meanwhile, Matilda was pulled by Angel Louise up the main staircase to the second floor, they ran down a long hall of closed doors until they came to the last bedroom. It was here that the ladies had gathered.

In this room were long tables for cutting patterns, shelves lined with bolts of fabric, laces, threads and other notions, and at center stage, under a large double window, stood a beautiful state of the art Wilcox-Gibbs sewing machine, which was housed in an elaborate golden oak cabinet. Two sewing mannequins stood off to the side, one was dressed in an exquisite gown of white lace, silk and satin, and on the other a smaller version of the same. Most young brides of this time and this town, chose gowns of a practical nature, in colors suitable for wear to most any occasion for years after the wedding was over, it was only the well to do families who could afford a white lace gown in the style of Queen Victoria. By the nature of her own skill with needle and thread, Mrs. McGoo could afford to gown Cynthia as stylishly as any blue-blood bride.

"Oh try it on, please." Mrs. Bodkin implored.

"Should I?" Cynthia questioned looking at her own mother for guidance.

"If you'd like dear … I'm sure we'd all love to see you in it … I know I would."

So with a great deal of effort and fussing with buttons and stays and all the other paraphernalia which went into Victorian dressing, Cynthia donned the gown. Frankly, Matilda had at no time in her life ever seen anything so lovely. Even Miss Kitty in all her finery had never shown up in such a dress.

Mrs. Bodkin's hands flew to her cheeks and her mouth formed an 'O'. "Mrs. McGoo, you are an artist - a true artist!" she cooed.

Mrs. McGoo's rosy cheeks deepened in flush, "Thank you, it did turn out quite nicely if I do say so myself."

"I wanna put my dress on too." Angel Louise whined.

"Oh, I don't think so." Mrs. Bodkin said.

"But I wanna …"

Mrs. McGoo intervened, "Please let her Mrs. Bodkin, then we'll know if the dress needs to be altered. My goodness, Angel Louise looks like she has grown since I first fit her."

So with a good deal of whining and complaining on the child's part, she was assisted out of one dress and into the other. "It's scratchy." Was the first thing she said when the gown was slipped over her head. The dress was pulled in place, and it became obvious to all that either Mrs. McGoo had been less than exact in her measurements or Angel Louise had undergone a dramatic growth spurt for the dress was too short in length and inches from closing in the back.

"Oh my." Mrs. Bodkin exclaimed.

"Oh my, oh my." Cynthia cried.

"Oh my Good Lord!" Mrs. McGoo beseeched. "I'm afraid it will take more than altering to remedy this situation."

"You're going to have to sew another dress Mother, and the wedding is only a week away."

Mrs. McGoo was nearly in tears, "I don't have enough lace, even if I take it from this dress, there won't be enough."

Angel Louise, at this news, and fearing she wouldn't be in the wedding, threw a fit and began screaming and tearing away at the pretty garment.

Mrs. McGoo closed her eyes and clapped her hands together in thought, "I do have plenty of the fabric we used for the attendants gowns." Her eyes popped open, "Angel Louise how would you like to wear a dress like the grown up ladies?"

This question quieted the little girl as she pondered her answer. "Would my skirt go all the way to the floor? Can I wear my hair up and with flowers in it?"

"Yes," Cynthia responded, "just like the grown up ladies." She hastily moved forward to rescue the flower girl dress from any further destruction by Angel. "Hold up your arms so I can slip it off, dear."

"Good girl", Mrs. McGoo said as she took Cynthia's place with tape measure and pins.

Mrs. Bodkin took the flower girl dress from Cynthia and studied the craftsmanship. "What a shame. If only we knew of another little girl who could wear this."

"Well we do!" Mrs. McGoo exclaimed. "Mattie, how would you like to be in the wedding?"

"Me?"

"Yes … you."

"She can't wear my dress! It's mine, if I can't wear it, no one is going to wear it."

"Now Angel Louise, you're getting a brand new dress, even better than that old white one."

Angel Louise wasn't to be quieted, "But you don't want Matilda in the wedding, everyone will talk and make fun of her … remember what you said about her, mother? She is a product of sin."

"Angel Louise!'

"Well you did say that."

Kind Cynthia McGoo gave a gentle smile as she came to Matilda and knelt to one knee, "Matilda, would you like to try the dress on, would you like to be in my wedding?"

Matilda jutted her chin forward, "Will everyone make fun of me?"

"Oh no honey, they will say you are as pretty as a picture."

Matilda gave a narrow eyed look at Angel Louise and she could see the older girl was fuming and on the verge of another all out tantrum. The imp in Kitty Russell's daughter won out. It might be worth it, she considered, just to get Angel's goat.

To Cynthia she replied, "Okay, I'll try on the dress and if it fits, I will be in the wedding. But, just so you know … I'm not getting married."

All the ladies giggled, "No Matilda, you don't have to get married, you just walk down the aisle in church and look pretty and toss rose petals from a darling little satin ribbon basket."

"I could do that … how far do I have to throw them?"

Again the ladies giggled, "You just daintily toss them on the floor so Cynthia can walk over them."

Matilda's dress was pulled off and then the flower girl dress was slipped on. Angel Louise was right, the netting was itchy, but the dress couldn't have fit better if it had been made for her.

And with that, Matilda found herself as a flower girl in Angel Louise's brother's wedding.

**GS GS GS GS**

Dinsdale Hinkle had been in love with Mrs. McGoo for years. His feelings had surfaced from his first meeting with his partner's wife. He had adored from afar always keeping check his emotions, and doing such a superb job of it that no one suspected he was anything but Mr. McGoo's business associate. Even after Dan McGoo died and a sufficient time of mourning had passed and he could have made his romantic move he found that he was still a slave to the social laws which had kept him at bay for so many years. Moreover, he was sensitive to her loss, for her husband had not only been his partner but his friend as well. It was only in recent time that he had decided to declare his affections, and wouldn't you know it, Matt Dillon had made his move first. How could he, Dinsdale Hinkle compete with a heroic figure like Matt Dillon, and furthermore, Dillon had the one thing that would make him positively irresistible to a woman such as Mrs. McGoo - he had a young daughter in need of mothering.

The scowl on Hinkle's face deepened as he smoked his cigar and listened to the other men discuss the topic of the day - the upcoming heavy weight champion ship fight between boxers Paddy Ryan and John L Sullivan in New York City. The local paper had been full of the news. "What do you think of the matter?" Bodkin asked Mr. Hinkle.

Dinsdale had paid the conversation around him no mind, dwelling instead on the state of his loveless life. He gruffly cleared his throat and straightened up in his seat a bit. "I have no opinion on the matter." he replied. "I need some fresh air, if you will excuse me gentlemen." He stood and abruptly left the room.

"What got in to him?" Bodkin asked.

"Perhaps he takes offense to the sport of pugilism father." Douglas offered and Felix concurred.

Outside, Dinsdale paced the porch and then sat down on the swing. He had imagined sitting thusly with Myrtle to his side sipping tea and nibbling away at one of her tasty sweets. He sighed, he did have a weakness for her sweets. He had believed when he'd been asked to give the bride away at the ceremony that Myrtle was at last seeing him in a different light. Reminded of this thought he felt somewhat better. She had asked him to participate in the wedding and there wasn't much more important than walking the bride down the aisle. A smile lifted his somber lips. Yes, he was giving the bride away, just as her father would have. Let Dillon top that, he thought.

He gathered his errant emotions, stood, tugged his waistcoat in place and returned to the house.

As Dinsdale Hinkle stood in the entry alcove he heard Myrtle's voice coming from the front parlor. "I'm sure Mr. Hinkle wouldn't mind, in fact he'd probably be relieved and since Mattie is going to be the flower girl, it makes perfect sense that you, Marshal Dillon, give the bride away!"


	26. Chapter 26

**Twenty-six**

Matt Dillon mulled the evening over, as he sat on his bed in the boarding house and pulled off his boots. Matilda was already fast asleep, dreaming no doubt about that fancy flower girl dress and baskets of rose petals.

"How the hell had this happened?" His boots hit the floor with a thud, first the one and then the other, forgetting for the moment the fact Ma Smalley had repeatedly asked him to be more quiet when he took off his boots at night. He'd been courting Mrs. McGoo less than a week and already he was giving her daughter away in matrimony. When Myrtle had asked him, he'd hemmed and hawed, but his hemming and hawing had been virtually ignored as the ladies continued their plan making, as if his answer was a moot point. It seems Mrs. Bodkin was aware of the get up he'd worn on the first half of his date with Lettie. She described the duded-up outfit and the ladies all agreed that he must wear this to the ceremony. In no time at all his head was spinning to the tune of their cackling. He felt caught smack dab in the middle of a Kansas twister.

His head hit the pillow, his eyes stared at the ceiling watching the play of shadow dance, from the street lamp under his bedroom window. He growled a low moan of frustration. He hated social obligations, hated sitting in church, hated small talk, and hated wearing a starched shirt and tie. He sat back up. It occurred to him that this might be a good time to get out of town, on business of course. He'd never run short of excuses in the old days to get out of some bothersome shiveree, church social or community barn dance. But now that he'd cleaned up his portion of the wild west, and things in the cow town were downright tame, excuses to get out of Dodge were becoming few and far between. He sighed and flopped back on the bed. He was no coward, but it seemed life was trying his courage at every twist of fate and he was getting tired of it.

He had one thing to be grateful for, he allowed, he'd gotten out of escorting Mrs. McGoo to church the following morning. As they stood in the foyer after all the other guests had left for home, he'd declared that since Festus had watched the town all Saturday night it was the least he could do to take over on Sunday morning and certainly the jail cells were sure to be full.

As if Dillon being there or not was of any consequence, Mrs. McGoo had turned to the little girl, "Mattie darling, would you like to go to church with me tomorrow morning?"

"Can I?" she looked to her father.

He had scowled, and warned, "Matilda can be a handful, you know?"

"I find that hard to believe." Myrtle said with a smile, "We can make a day of it, Mattie and I, and maybe you'd join us for supper Marshal Dillon, in the evening, after your duties at the jail house have been fulfilled?"

So there it was, he punched his pillow and rolled over on his side, this was how his life would be, his calendar would be dictated by a woman. He guessed it wouldn't have been half so bad had the woman been someone he loved. He moaned again and this time pain was the reason, "Kitty." He said her name out loud and saw her beautiful face in a flash from his mind's eye.

**GS GS GS GS**

Dillon was sleeping when Matilda awoke at the very crack of dawn the next morning. She didn't want to waste any time in bed. She quickly pulled on her church dress, leaving her bow untied and her hair uncombed and ran down the stairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Smalley was at the table in her night gown and flannel robe, her hair still tied up in rag curls. She was looking though her recipe book and jotting down ingredients on a piece of paper to her right. She had a cup of coffee in front of her.

"Good heavens what are you doing up at this hour? "

"I'm going over to Mrs. McGoo's house, she 'vited me for church. Can you please tie my bow?"

"Well you can't go this early. Did you even comb your hair?

"No and why not? She said come early."

Mrs. Smalley pulled the little girl to her side and tied the bow at the back of her dress. "You can help me get breakfast on the table, then we'll comb your hair and tidy you up a might before you go off visiting. Get an apron out of the drawer, so's you don't dirty up that dress. I have enough washing to do."

Matilda did as she was told and stood again in front of Mrs. Smalley to have the apron bow tied. "Now, go on out to the hen house and gather the eggs, while I get dressed and mind your gentle with them eggs, don't need no cracked ones."

Obediently, Matilda gathered the eggs, and placed them carefully in the wicker basket used for that purpose and then placed the basket on the kitchen table. She could hear Mrs. Smalley in her bedroom off the kitchen. The child quickly considered where she would rather be under the circumstances and there was no contest. If she was going to help with breakfast it was at Mrs. McGoo's house that she wanted to be. With a smile, Matilda pulled off the apron and made her escape.

She ran down the street as fast as her short legs could take her and didn't feel she was safe from Ma Smalley until she turned the corner to Spring St., where Mrs. McGoo lived. She knocked at the front door and then turned the crank on the large brass door bell. Moments later Miss Prudy appeared with a smile as she recognized the young visitor.

"Come in Miss Matilda, we didn't expect you quite so early, but come in, come in."

Mrs. McGoo was just descending the staircase wearing a pretty blue polished cotton dress. Her white hair was pulled atop her head, but she'd allowed several snowy tendrils to soften the look. Plump and rosy colored, she appeared almost girlishly pretty. She dimpled at the sight of Matilda. "Good morning little Sunshine. Just in time for breakfast." At the bottom of the stairs she held out her hand and Matilda took it.

"Ma Smalley said I'd be too early, but I told her you said I should come early."

"That's exactly right." Mrs. McGoo answered, as she and Prudence exchanged an amused glance over Matilda's disheveled appearance. "Prudy, breakfast smells marvelous. I hope you like a big breakfast Mattie, because no one in town fixes a better one than our Miss Prudence."

It was a merry meal with plenty of giggles and smiles. Prudence had prepared blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs, and thick smoked bacon. The meal was topped by strawberries in heavy sweetened whey cream.

Matilda helped Miss Prudy clear away the plates without being asked. When she had completed this task. Mrs. McGoo offered to help Matilda comb her hair and wash up for church.

"You know," she said in a thinking out loud kind of voice, "I've saved some of Cynthia's pretty dresses from when she was your age, do you think you'd like to wear one for church?"

"I think I would." Matilda replied.

As they walked down the long hall upstairs, Mrs. McGoo stopped at one of the closed doors, "Cynthia, time to get up for church."

They heard a mumbled response followed by a more intelligible, "Yes mother."

In the sewing room, Mrs. McGoo opened a large closet with stacked boxes lining the shelves. She peeked in several of the containers until she found the one she was looking for. She pulled it from the shelf and opened it up for Matilda to see. Inside, packed with tissue paper, was a delicious confection of pale pink ruffled layers of organza and silk. It was every little girls dream dress and the perfect shade to compliment Matilda's unique coloring. "I think I have a blue satin sash to go with this, "Would you like to wear the dress dear?"

"May I?"

"Well certainly you may. Let's comb your hair and maybe we can find a ribbon to hold those curls as well."

They were almost ready to leave for church when Matt Dillon showed up at the door. He rapped with a force that rattled a collection of tiny porcelain shoes in Mrs. McGoo's curio cupboard. Prudence let him in and lead him to the front parlor where Mrs. McGoo was helping Matilda put on a pair of white kid leather gloves. He glanced at his daughter and then looked again. She resembled a china doll in the pretty pink dress, with her wild red hair tamed by a pale blue ribbon. For a heartbeat, he saw Kitty in her. Then it hit him, this is how a child looks when she has a mother to tend to her. Anger left his face, for he had been angry when he set out from the Boarding House, fueled by Ma's admonition that he better do something to make that child obey.

Despite the warm spot he was feeling in his heart, he knew Ma was correct in her advise so he said, "You left before Mrs. Smalley gave you permission to do so."

"Yes sir."

"She was worried about you."

"Yes sir."

"Matilda…" he winced back a surge of grief that had suddenly assailed him, as his grief often did.

"Yes sir?"

He had to clear his throat before he could speak again, "You look mighty pretty in that get up."

Their blue eyes locked, "Thank you." she said, feeling pleasure at his praise.

He left again to relieve Festus at the jail house and then Mrs McGoo, Prudence, Cynthia and Matilda headed out the door to walk to church. Along the way they were met by Mr. Hinkle. This strategy had been carefully plotted by Dinsdale Hinkle several years ago and had now become part of his Sunday ritual. He greeted the ladies with a tip of his hat and proceeded to escort them the rest of the way to Church Service.

As was their practice, they sat on the left side, in a pew halfway between front and back. Mr Hinkle positioned nearest the aisle, Matilda next to him and Mrs. McGoo on the other side, with Cynthia to her left and Prudence in the balcony with the church choir. Shortly after they sat down Douglas Bodkin came and sat next to Cynthia.

Church service in Dodge City was vastly different from mass at the convent. There was no genuflecting, no confusing finger gestures and she could understand what the minister was saying. Oh, and people smiled … that was the nicest part of all, the smiling. She guessed it was because Reverend Parker was a smiley man and he just naturally passed his good will on to the parishioners.

After service Mr. Hinkle was asked to Sunday dinner at the McGoo's. This invitation was nearly a weekly occurrence and fit in perfectly with Dinsdale's plans.

At the heart of things Mr. Hinkle was a nice man with a kind heart and when Matilda offered him a smile he genuinely returned it. She reached for his hand in a gesture of goodwill, while holding Mrs. McGoo's with the other and that is the way they walked home from church - Mrs. McGoo and Mr. Hinkle with the child between them. For all three there was something innately satisfying about the circumstance.

As they rounded the corner to Spring Street, they could smell the delectable fragrance of Prudence's chicken, which had been baking while they worshipped. At the house, Mrs. McGoo took off her hat and gloves and set them on the side table. She offered Dinsdale Hinkle a glass of sherry and poured herself one as well. To Matilda she offered a pretty crystal glass filled with apple cider. The three sat in the front parlor and waited to be called for dinner.

"Why did Cynthia go with the Bodkins?" Matilda asked.

Myrtle gave a little sad sigh, "She will soon be a Bodkin, Mattie, so it's right that she spend time with her new family."

"It's hard getting used to a new family." Matilda confided with a knowing nod of her head.

"I imagine it is. What do you miss the most from your time with the Sisters of Charity?"

"Emily of course. I wonder what she's doing?"

Dinsdale Hinkle asked, "And who might Emily be?"

"She's my friend. She lives at the Convent in New Orleans."

"She's a blind orphan without much chance of being adopted." Myrtle explained.

"Oh, but she's not so _very_ blind. I heard Sister Regina say that spectacles could help her see considerably better, but there was no money for orphans for anything extra."

"What a shame." Dinsdale said.

Matilda spoke up, "I think if they stopped using all those candles in church they might have a little extra money for eye glasses."

"I wish there was something we could do to help her." Myrtle said reaching out to touch Mr Hinkle's hand as it rested on the arm of his chair.

His heart skipped a beat before he reached out with his other hand to place it atop hers. "Perhaps there is my dear … perhaps there is." He was thoughtful for a moment, or maybe he was just enjoying the physical contact with Mrs. McGoo. "I will have Roman Gundrum, our business attorney telegraph the Sisters of Charity, in New Orleans tomorrow morning."

"That would be marvelous, for to be truthful, the thought of this child has been heavy on my mind since Mattie first mentioned her."

Dinner was delicious - Miss Prudy had a way with chicken, for it had been sautéed with special herbs and spices, and then baked in a delicate wine sauce in a manner unknown to Ma Smalley and her practical approach to cooking.

Normally, Dinsdale Hinkle would take his leave shortly after the sweets had been served, but on this Sunday he decided to change his pattern. "May I interest you ladies in a nature walk along Four Mile Creek? I noticed many of the early summer wildflowers are in bloom, and the prairie is beginning to come to life."

"What a good idea Mr. Hinkle, it is far too lovely a day to spend inside and I feel a constitutional necessary after Prudence's excellent meal."

"Should I change back into my own clothes?" Matilda wanted to know.

"Yes dear, organza and silk don't go well with a nature walk."

Mr. Hinkle was a botanist at heart, for he knew the names of many of the flowers and plants. He pointed as they walked along the path with a voice that had gained animation and excitement, "See the Prairie clover in bloom - it is truly one of my favorite flora. And over there, is echinacea purpurea the coneflower just starting it's purple show." He pointed to prairie coreopsis, lead plant, wild quinine, "and see the bright orange and yellow coneflower? It looks like a Sombrero doesn't it?"

"What's a Sombrero?" Matilda asked.

"It's a Mexican hat, it has a wide brim to keep the sun off on hot days, and that's what they call the plant, Mexican hat, although it's scientific name is rat_bida columnar."_

"Mr. Hinkle?"

"What child?"

"You should meet my teacher Miss Tuttwell. She likes scientific names too." Matilda had a bit of cupid in her for she could imagine the two tall thin somewhat somber people making a match.

As they walked, Matilda happened to notice a familiar looking butterfly worrying a brightly colored plant with flowers that looked like orange stars with deeper red orange shaped scoops in the center.

"Mr. Hinkle what kind of plant is that?"

"Ah … Asdepias Tuberosa - Butterfly Milkweed."

"Milkweed? Do you get milk from it?"

"No … not this one … It is unique in not having milky sap, as do other members of the genus. See the little hoods?

"You mean the scoops in the center?"

He smiled, "Yes, the nectar is hidden safe in the bottom. It takes a strong insect to pull the pollen loose, smaller insets have been known to get trapped and perish. The Butterfly Milkweed is essential to the Monarch's survival."

"Monarch!" she exclaimed, remembering that was what Miss Tuttwell had called the orange and black butterfly on their picnic.

"Yes, you see there is something in the milkweed which makes the butterfly taste unpleasant to predators."

"Mr Hinkle?"

"Yes?"

"Monarch's must be pretty smart."

He nodded his head and agreed, "There is a great deal of wisdom in nature."

They walked back to Spring Street. Mrs McGoo and Matilda each carried a small bouquet of wildflowers. "I'll put mine on the supper table for this evening, and Matilda I will give you a little vase and you can take your flowers home to put in your room. Would you like that?"

"Yes I would. I'll show Miss Tuttwell and I'll tell her the names of each flower, will you help me remember Mr. Hinkle?"

"I'd be pleased to."

Before he left, Mr. Hinkle thanked Matilda for a delightful afternoon. "You are a most pleasant child." he praised. To Mrs. McGoo he promised, "I will let you know as soon as I have information about little Emily's situation at the convent."

"Thank you." She said, giving his cheek a quick appreciative kiss.

**GS GS GS GS**

Matt Dillon had had a very dull afternoon. There had been only one drunk to keep an eye on, seventy-five year old Billy Baumann. His wife Lillyanne had come to bail him out before mid morning. So Dillon had sat in his chair, feet propped on the desk and Stetson slipped over his eyes and snoozed. At noon he moseyed over to Delmonico's and had the special of the day, liver and onions. It gave him gas, which he contended with for the rest of the afternoon. At five, Festus returned and Dillon left for Mrs. McGoo's.

The afternoon had afforded the lawman plenty of time to think. It was obvious Matilda adored Mrs. McGoo and obvious too that Mrs. McGoo felt the same about the child. And even though he felt nothing for Mrs McGoo other than a sense of polite cordiality he decided to ask her to marry him. He was sad and resigned, but there was a sense of relief as well, for he knew should anything happen to him, Kitty's daughter would be well loved and taken care of.

Matilda and Mrs. McGoo were sitting on the front porch swing when he arrived at the home on Spring St. The widow appeared to be coaching the child on some form of fancy work for the little girl held an embroidery hoop and needle and thread. "Mrs. McGoo is teaching me how to sew a sampler!" Matilda happily explained.

"How was your day Marshal?" Mrs. McGoo asked as she rose from her chair to greet him.

"The usual." He answered laconically, for he did not want to tell her about sitting in the office, sleeping at his desk for the better part of the afternoon, after all, he had something of a hero's legacy to protect. "How did Matilda behave?"

"Oh, we had a wonderful afternoon, didn't we Mattie?"

"The best afternoon ever!" Her enthusiastic reply only added to his depression.

Supper was not the grand affair Sunday dinner had been at Mrs. McGoo's home, still it was far better than the liver and onions Dillon had consumed at Delmonico's.

Prudence had the evening off so Matilda had helped Mrs. McGoo make chicken pot pie. She had picked the fresh watercress from the spring which flowed behind Spring St. She'd shelled the peas, and tried her hand at rolling out the pastry dough for the pie. With Myrtle's direction, she had squeezed the lemons for the lemonade, and frosted the chocolate cake for dessert.

At the dinner table, Dillon sat quietly eating, making appropriate comment as Mrs. McGoo pointed out Matilda's part in each course of the meal. All the while he was trying to wrap his tongue around the words, "Will you marry me." He never found the heart to say them.

"On Wednesday evening there will be a dinner and dance at the Bodkin home celebrating the upcoming nuptials, will you and Matilda join me?" Mrs. McGoo asked.

He stifled a sigh, "What time?"

"Seven." She turned back to the child, "Matilda, I have another one of Cynthia's dresses for you to wear if you'd like."

"Yes please."

Shortly thereafter father and daughter left the home of Myrtle McGoo. One had been kissed goodbye and the other had not.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

For Matilda the idea born that Sabbath afternoon in the sunshine and prairie, took root the next day at the breakfast table. There were just three females eating in the boarding house kitchen that morning, Ma, Miss Tuttwell and Matilda. Matt Dillon had already left for his day's work.

"Mr. Hinkle is a nice man." Matilda said.

"Dinsdale Hinkle?" Ma asked.

"Yes."

"Oh, was he at Mrs. McGoo's house yesterday?"

"Yes'm."

"Always thought Myrtle would end up with him, never thought in a hundred years it would be Matt Dillon." She chuckled and glanced at Miss Tuttwell hoping for some response. But the school marm was sitting ramrod straight consuming her breakfast with perfect etiquette.

"Please pass the cream Mrs. Smalley." Was all she had to say.

"He knows all about flowers - even the **sci-tific **name for them." Matilda said the mispronounced word in a loud voice hoping to get her teacher's attention.

"He's a dandy alright, it figures he'd know all about flowers." Mrs. Smalley snorted.

"I brought some flowers here, for my room. Mrs. McGoo gived me a vase. I can show them to you, Miss Tuttwell. I remember most of their names."

Ma frowned. "You got a vase with water in it up in your room? Don't you be spilling that water all over my wood floors and fine carpets … you hear me Matilda?"

"If you'd like Ma, I can bring them down here, you can put them on the table for dinner?"

"What do I want with a bunch of wild flowers? I got a garden of my own … with real flowers in it not those prairie weeds."

Miss Tuttwell looked at Matilda, "I'd love to see your flowers Matilda, if you'd care to show them to me." Matilda made a move to spring into action, but her teacher added, "after we finish breakfast."

So some minutes later Matilda retrieved the flowers from her room to show Miss Tuttwell, who was still seated at Ma Smalley's breakfast table. "You know what this flower is?" Matilda asked her teacher.

"I think I do, but why don't you tell me and I'll see if I was right."

"It's called a butterfly milkweed because the **Monarch** butterfly - remember the one we saw on our picnic - well he likes the **neck-er** and it makes the butterfly taste bad to birds so they leave him alone."

"It's pronounced nec-tar and your information is correct … I am pleased you remembered the butterfly we saw on our picnic. You know the butterfly helps the milkweed too."

"It does?"

"Yes … it spreads pollen from plant to plant, insuring that the species will continue."

"Huh?"

"It is complicated. I will explain it to you in more depth some other time if you would like."

"Mr. Hinkle was real nice." Matilda reiterated. "He likes to read and study on things. He likes wild flowers and butterflies just like you do Miss Tuttwell. I bet if you went on a picnic with him, he'd do more than dig for worms and fish."

Sydney Elvira's eyelashes fluttered as she began to see what was going on in Matilda's brain. She nodded her head at the child, "It certainly sounds like it." Miss Tuttwell then rose from her chair and turning to Mrs. Smalley she said, "Thank you for breakfast. I wish you both a pleasant morning."

She adjusted her impeccable posture and walked from the kitchen at a slightly faster pace than normal. She paused in the parlor to look out the front window. She could see Main Street and the corner of the Marshall's office. Already the town was bustling with commerce and activity. There was life and love going on round about her and she felt acutely isolated from it. She acknowledged to herself for maybe the first time in her life that while there was great emotional safety in isolation there was also loneliness.

Later that morning, after her chores had been finished, Matilda asked Ma if she and Herbie Heitzer, who was spending the week in town with his grandparents, could go to Mr. Lathrop's store for some penny candy.

Ma gave her permission and even threw in a couple cents so they'd have a little extra. "You two stay together and stay out of trouble. Bring me back a peppermint." she requested.

Now, Herbie was a stocky boy and no stranger to the candy counter and he was puffing by the time they reached the general store. "You wait here, I'll be right back." Matilda ordered.

"Where you going?"

"I got an errand."

"Doing what?"

"I want to see Mr. Hinkle."

"Who's Mr. Hinkle?"

"Just stay here, like I said I won't be long and I'll 'splain it to you later."

"Na uh … we're s'posed to stay together. I want supper tonight and I don't want no lick'n neither."

So Herbie followed her as they walked across the street, past the Long Branch and the Lady Gay, past the blacksmith and just across from the railroad depot to a whitewashed two story building with the words HINKLE & MCGOO FREIGHT CO. printed across the top in Black and Gold lettering. A substantial warehouse was located next to the building, alongside that a stable housing draft horses and heavy wagons.

"Ma-tilDA … I don't think we should be here."

"Hush up Herbie, I didn't ask you to come and I didn't ask for you to tell me what to do either."

She threw back her thin shoulders and lengthened her back in a manner reminiscent of her mother, before marching into the building. A plain young woman, in black gown, with thick spectacles looked up from a desk by the door and asked, "May I help you?"

"I'd like to see Mr. Hinkle please."

"Oh, and is he expecting you?"

"Nope, but I'm a friend of his."

"I see. Well, whom shall I say is calling?"

"Matilda, Matilda Dillon."

"Ohhh." The young woman stood, "I'll see if he is in, Miss Dillon." She departed into a glass enclosed office room where Matilda could see two other desks situated on each side of an aisle occupied by men in business coats working diligently with pen and pencil. Beyond that was a very impressive double oak door and it was here that the young woman stopped and knocked.

It didn't take long before Dinsdale himself appeared at the door. He looked slightly cross at the interruption, but his face soon changed to a smile and Matilda could see him nodding his head with great affirmation.

The young woman returned to the glass doorway and ushered Matilda and Herbie through the portal and into Mr. Hinkle's office.

"What a pleasant surprise. No doubt you've come to see what progress I've made in regard to your friend Emily? Well, you will be happy to know that my attorney has contacted the convent. I should have more information within the next several days."

"Can you please tell your 'turney to tell Emily that I said 'hello'?"

"That's already been done my child. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"I showed Miss Tuttwell the flowers. She liked them. She said the Monarch helps the butterfly milkweed too."

"She did?"

"Something about pollensomething … she said she'd tell me about it later … but without it there wouldn't be any milkweed plant."

"She's absolutely right."

"You know Mr. Hinkle … you and Miss Tuttwell would have lots of 'nteresting things to talk about like pollen and plant names and butterflies."

He nodded and stuck his hands in his front pockets. "I imagine we would. Matilda, may I ask where this is leading?"

The little girl took a deep breath, "Are you going to the party at the Bodkin's house on Wednesday?"

"I was invited, but that was before … well … before certain circumstances set in to play."

"I think you should ask Miss Tuttwell to come with you."

He smiled, "Oh you do, do you?"

"Yes sir. She's nice when she's not being all teachery. She can smile pretty too … if you give her something to smile about."

"Did she tell you to come visit me?"

"No sir … no one did. I just thunk up the idea on my own. Did I do something wrong … b'cause I didn't mean to … it just seemed like a good thing to do."

Herbie had begun to slink his way out of the door for he feared Matilda had wormed her way into trouble again.

But, Mr. Hinkle didn't seem angry, in fact he was still smiling, for he was seeing how inviting the schoolteacher might stir up a little jealousy within the kind heart of Mrs. McGoo. "Well my dear, you may have come up with a good idea, a very good idea indeed. Do you expect Miss Tuttwell to be at the Boarding House this afternoon?"

"Most days she is. She's reading some book in Greek and it takes her a long time to do it - kinda like me when I try to read something in English. Anyway she sits in Ma's garden back by the picnic table."

"Very well Matilda, I will send a note asking her if I may call this afternoon. Now, you best run on home."

"Yes sir." Matilda said with her best immitation of Mrs. McGoo's smile.


	28. Chapter 28

**Twenty eight**

Dinsdale wrote a note in his most elegant handwriting on the back of his calling card and sent it by office messenger to the boarding house. The note arrived before Herbie and Matilda.

Standing on the back porch looking through the screen door, they found Miss Tuttwell pacing across the kitchen floor arms a flutter in a most uncharacteristically disconcerted manner. Ma was at her ironing board spouting advice, "It wouldn't do you no harm to have a social life. Just 'cause you're a teacher, don't mean you can't go out and have a little fun."

Miss Tuttwell's refined voice made evident her agitation, "Well, I told the messenger I would accept his call this afternoon, didn't I? I would hazard to guess that Matilda had something to do with this."

Herbie looked at Matilda with wide eyes, and the two tiptoed off the steps and took fast flight to the back yard, where they climbed the apple tree and hid behind the branches. The advantage to this location was that it still gave the pair a good view of the back kitchen window. They stayed there until they saw Miss Tuttwell leave the room. At that point they cautiously returned to the house.

"Here's your peppermint candy Ma." Matilda offered, holding out two pieces in the palm of her grubby hand.

Mrs. Smalley took one, and popped it in her mouth. She sucked on it for a moment and then, "You ask Mr. Hinkle to come calling on Miss Tuttwell?"

Matilda nodded.

Ma smiled and bobbed her head, "I couldn't a done a better job matchmaking myself."

Herbie and Matilda shared a sandwich at the picnic table in the back yard for lunch, not wishing to expose themselves to Miss Tuttwell, should she harbor any continued resentment for what they had done. Ma had readily agreed.

At 2:00 PM that afternoon, Mr. Hinkle came calling. He was dressed in a black suit, wore a derby hat and carried a walking stick in one hand and a bouquet of wildflowers in the other. Miss Tuttwell greeted him and the two withdrew to the front parlor. He left 45 minutes later with a smile softening his dour face.

At dinner that evening Miss Tuttwell said hardly a word, she ate such a meager portion of food and so concerned Grandma Heitzer that the older woman offered to dose the school teacher with some of her special home brewed tonic.

Miss Tuttwell, thanked Grandma Heitzer but declined and shortly after excused herself from the dinner table and retired to her room. "I wish not to be disturbed," was her parting comment to the assemblage.

Taffy Boyd started giggling as soon as the school teacher was out of earshot, "Miss Tuttwell's got a boyfriend! They were talk'in 'bout it at the Long Branch. Seems she's goin' to that fancy shindig at the Bodkin house on Wednesday night with … Dinsdale Hinkle!"

Matt Dillon, who had been concentrating on eating, perked up with the disclosure of this news. "Dinsdale Hinkle?" He asked, glaring at the saloon hostess.

Happy to have the Marshal's attention, Taffy gave her robust bosom a jiggle for Dillon's benefit. "Yes Sugar, can you imagine, can you just imagine?"

"Indeed …" Miss Tuttwell thought standing at the top of the stairs, for she had very good hearing and hadn't missed a word of Taffy's Boyd's comments. "Can you just imagine..."

Sydney Elvira entered her room, closed the door and then fell back against it. What had she been thinking, she wondered. She glanced up and saw her reflection in the mirror atop her dresser and found herself in the unusual circumstance of feeling inadequate. She moved forward for a closer look. Staring back at her was the face she'd always been satisfied with, clear eyes, strong nose, high cheekbones. A countenance which showed an intelligent woman, one who would not suffer fools lightly. It also reflected a stranger to frivolity.

Her lips were so tight they seemed a straight line. In fact every muscle of her face was tense. "Why had she said 'yes' ?", she pondered. She would send a note to Mr. Hinkle in the morning, that she was sorry but she would not be able to accompany him to the dinner party. She relaxed a little at this decision, and then wavered. Matilda was correct, Mr. Hinkle was friendly, had excellent manners, and they did seem able to communicate on an scholarly level. It had been enjoyable to converse with someone who was her intellectual equal. Then her thoughts bounced back to his invitation to the gala event at the Bodkin home. The banker was a prominent resident of not only Dodge City and Ford County, but the State of Kansas as well. The marriage of his son, was an occasion which would draw the best of Kansas aristocracy. Rumor had it, there were to be political figures, as well as some of the richest and most distinguished citizens of the State. She would be completely out of her element and furthermore, as inane as it sounded, she had nothing to wear. To prove the point she walked to her small closet. Four dark plain dresses, three white shirtwaists and two long dark skirts stared back at her, all most serviceable for her profession and heretofore social obligations. She shook her head. She had a good idea what the high society women would be wearing to this festivity - their finest, their very finest, each in an effort to out do the other, in fact most of the ladies would be wearing something created just for this affair, right from the pages of Godey's. She would stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. Yes, she decided, she would tell Mr. Hinkle thank you, but no thank you.

At 7:30 there was a small knock on her door. "I asked not to be disturbed" she said from inside her room.

"Miss Tuttwell, can I talk to you?"

"Matilda! I would think it apparent that you above all should be following my wishes."

"Pul-ease?"

"Very well." She opened the door and let the child in. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I wanted to tell you somethin' first."

"What do you have to say?"

"I just wanted to say I was sorry. I didn't want to make you mad. I wanted to make you happy."

"In matters of courtship, Matilda it is best to let people make their own choices."

"But you weren't making choices and Mr. Hinkle was nice and I liked him and I like you too."

"Yes, Matilda he is nice and you are correct, on the surface we appear well suited to one another."

"Well, what is it then?"

Her voice was strained, "Matilda, I do not feel comfortable discussing my private life with you. I accept your apology, and I do not hold this against you. But please, in the future refrain from playing matchmaker. Now, off to bed with you."

Matilda tried to charm a smile from Miss Tuttwell but the teacher's lips remained firm and straight. Matilda sighed, "Good night." and padded down the hall to her own room.

**GS GS GS GS**

There was a breeze that night but it didn't cool off Miss Tuttwell, she had gone to bed trying to sleep but sleep didn't come, so she had read for a while from a Greek copy of Homer's Odyssey. It was well after midnight, even Taffy Boyd had returned home and was in bed, and Sydney Tuttwell was still wide awake. Finally, she went down to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of buttermilk from the icebox and took it out to the back porch to sit in the old wicker rocker Ma used when she was snapping beans and shelling peas.

She was garbed in her extremely modest cotton sleep gown and because the night was warm she hiked up the skirts exposing her limbs and unbuttoned the top four buttons revealing more of her bosom area then she'd ever think of in public. This is how Matt Dillon found her when he returned to the Boarding House after a long ride back from Moon Bar ranch.

Susan had summoned him via a ranch hand just as Ma was serving apple pie for dessert. The only information the ranch hand could give him was that, "Miss Susan is mighty upset, crying and carrying on … she told me to get the Marshal right away. It's a matter of life and death." So Dillon climbed atop the old buckskin, the taste of one bite of apple pie still fresh in his mouth and trotted off to Moon Bar after the ranch hand. In his mind he pictured all manner of catastrophes and was prepared for just about anything considering who the one in need was. But, when he arrived at Moon Bar, it was to find Miss Susan dressed in a close fitting fancy gown, which exposed her best features. Her hair was softened and there was a hint of face paint and the scent of toilet water about her person. The dining room table was set with her best china and the smell of steak filled the ranch house. "What's this all about Susan?" He'd demanded.

She was all syrup, "Sit down and have a bite to eat, and we'll talk later. Here let me pour you a glass of brandy … it's Napoleon …." He was no fool, even where women were concerned, although most times he had overlooked the obvious. This time he did not. Susan had heard he was nearing a deal with Mrs. McGoo and Susan being Susan wanted to make her play for him before it was too late.

She'd approached him from the front, to allow him a better view of her cleavage. She raised a hand and smoothed a wrinkle on his vest, "You know I must apologize for my bad humor the last time we talked. I hope you can forgive me. It's just that this ranch is so big and with just me to run it, well sometimes I'm just overwhelmed. I really do need a strong man who will look after me and Moon Bar. Matt … can you imagine a better place to raise a child than right here?"

He'd listened to her pitch and sometime around midnight he'd taken his leave and made the long ride back to town.

Now Dillon was dead tired, his heart was sore and so was his disposition. He'd stabled the horse and made his way to the boarding house through the back alley. He saw Miss Tuttwell before she saw him and being a gentleman he cleared his throat after a couple moments of observation to let her know she was not alone.

She jumped to her feet, and turned her back to him and quickly buttoned up the night dress.

"Hot night." He said.

"Yes." she agreed with arms crossed. "The town must have been closed up for hours Mr. Dillon, where have you been, to be returning at this late hour? Or shouldn't I ask?"

"On a wild goose chase, Miss Tuttwell."

"And did you ruffle any feathers along the way."

He chuckled, "I'd like to have wrung someone's neck, but I guess the only feathers ruffled were mine."

She sat back in the chair and he put one foot on the top porch step to rest his arms on his leg. "Heard you're going to the Bodkin's on Wednesday." He said.

"Well you heard wrong."

"You're not going? Why not?"

"Not that it is any concern of yours, but … well … I haven't a thing to wear."

He tossed back his head and chuckled, "Where have I heard that before, every woman's lament."

"Well in my case it is a legitimate excuse. I hardly think any item in my wardrobe suitable for the occasion."

"Look Miss Tuttwell, if I've learned anything in the last month or so, clothes don't make you any more or any less of what and who you are."

Her voice held a hint of mockery, "I did hear about that fancy suit Miss Russell had tailored for you. Will you be wearing the suit on Wednesday?"

"Uh ahhh, I got orders to save it for the wedding, haven't you heard? I'm giving the bride away!"

"Really?"

"Yup, so I'll air out that old tweed jacket of mine to get rid of Ma's moth ball stink, and it'll have to do."

"See, this is exactly what I was referring to, if I go to the dinner and dance at the Bodkin's then I'll be expected to attend the wedding and I'd have to have another dress apposite for that."

He shook his head, "… never thought of you as the kind of woman to worry about her looks."

"Hardly the words a woman likes to hear."

"Well, you know what I mean. Can't you go down to Miss Helgemoe's dress shop, and get her to sew up something?"

"Not with so little notice. This is not vanity Mr. Dillon, but a man in Mr. Hinkle position deserves to escort a lady who is properly attired for the affair."

His mind shifted to Kitty, for she was the yardstick he measured other women by, she was always properly attired. She had an outfit for any occasion life tossed her way. Kitty had a room filled with fancy dresses, some she'd never even worn before, some she'd only worn once, some she hadn't worn in years. He spoke before he had time to consider the ramifications of his words.

"Miss Hannah at the Long Branch has been asking me to clean out Kitty's rooms. To tell the truth, I haven't had the heart. But, I'm sure … well … if you wanted … if you didn't mind second hand…"

"Are you suggesting", there was shock in her voice, "I wear Miss Russell's clothes?"

He yawned largely before answering, "If there's something that would work for you. May not be enough time for Miss Helgemoe to sew you something new, but I'd guess she'd have enough time to take in a seam or two."

Miss Tuttwell looked off into the night sky, silently admitting, she wanted more from her life than the cold isolation she had surrounded herself with. Perhaps she had a future with Mr. Hinkle but she'd never know unless she found the courage to seek her heart. She looked at the tired lawman and realized this was a major step for him as well. It could have been the late hour or even fate playing it's hand, "Mr. Dillon I accept your offer."


	29. Chapter 29

**Twenty-nine**

How strange this turn of events Miss Tuttwell thought as she was prodded through the batwing doors at the Long Branch the next morning at 8:30. Marshal Matt Dillon followed her in and then stopped abruptly in his tracks. Miss Hannah the new owner of the saloon was having her morning coffee and working on the books at a back table, much the way Kitty had. Miss Tuttwell noticed him intake breathe sharply and hold it for a moment like one fighting off a sudden sharp twinge. This time it was she who prodded him forward.

Behind them, Matilda followed with her eyes wide taking in every detail of her mother's former pride and joy.

"G'morning Marshal." Hannah said as she got out of her chair and moved toward them.

"Good morning Miss Hannah," Dillon greeted, his voice sounded forced, "Thought we'd get started on Kitty's room.

Hannah smiled and offered a hand out to Miss Tuttwell, "Don't believe we've met. I'm Hannah."

"Sydney Tuttwell, and this is Matilda Dillon."

"Well aren't you a pretty little thing?" Hannah said looking at the child.

"Yes ma'am I am." Matilda replied. "I got to come along to see where Miss Kitty lived."

"Well isn't that nice." Hannah said patting her head. She narrowed her eyes and looked at the Marshal, he was thin and looked like he needed a good night sleep and despite his tan, his skin had an unnatural pallor. "Would you like a drink Matt, before you go up there?" She asked.

He set his jaw slightly off kilter, and shook his head. Again he gave Miss Tuttwell a gentle prod in the direction of the steps. "Come on."

They climbed the stairs and walked down the hall to the last door. Here he took out his key chain and found the one which opened the lock. His hand held a slight tremor as he positioned the key. He hadn't been in her room since the morning she'd died. He'd sat beside her bed, hoping for some response some indication she was returning to him, but in the end there had been no final words of good-bye, no words of unending love, no deathbed confession. There had been nothing but the emptiness of her leaving him.

The room had been tidied, her bed had been dressed, the door had been locked and the room had been closed like a mausoleum sepulcher. He felt unsteady and moved to a large rocker and sat down abruptly.

"Are you going to be alright Mr. Dillon?" Miss Tuttwell asked.

He nodded, his face had broken out in cold beads of perspiration. "I might need that drink after all."

"Should I call Miss Hannah?"

He shook his head, "I know where it's at … gimme a second." He wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt. To his ears, his voice sounded hollow, "Her dresses are behind that far door - her dressing room." His heart pounded in his chest, and he thought for a moment he might actually pass out, "Matilda, you go with Miss Tuttwell now, go look at your mother's dresses."

Alone, Dillon heaved a shaky breath, with elbows on knees he rested his head in his hands for a moment, until the pounding subsided. Then, he pushed himself up from the chair and went to her bureau, he opened the top drawer and found the bottle of rye whiskey she kept up here for him. Oh, there were finer liquors which she set out for show, in elaborate decanters and crystal carafes, but this was what he preferred. He released the cork and took a good swig, he waited for a moment enjoying the fire and then took another drink before replacing the cork and putting the bottle back in the drawer with Kitty's unmentionables.

In the dressing room spinster and child looked in awe at the elaborate dresses and gowns. "She was beautiful you know." Matilda said.

"Yes."

"Miss Tuttwell, did you know her, was she your friend?"

"I knew her only in passing."

Matilda nodded her head, "Yeah, me too."

"I'd like to ask Matilda, would it be acceptable to you if I wore one of your mother's gowns to the dinner party at the Bodkins and to the wedding?"

"Sure? Why wouldn't it? Course she had much bigger bosoms than you do. But, maybe we could ask Mrs. McGoo to fix it for you, she can sew anything?"

"You wouldn't feel badly?"

"Na ahhh, I'm gonna wear one of Cynthia's dresses from when she was a little girl. I think it's fine you're gonna wear Miss Kitty's dress. Let's pick out a real pretty one, you know maybe you can stuff something in the top so it fits better!"

There was an incredible variety of sizes to chose from for Kitty had been a woman who fought the battle of middle age spread and was sometimes more successful than others. Some of the gowns were at least fifteen years old, and these were closer to Miss Tuttwell's size. Many were too dated even for the teacher, but there were several dresses which she deemed might work.

"Try 'em on." Matilda urged.

"Here?"

"Sure … this place is full of mirrors." Matilda was correct there were mirrors in the dressing room to expose every angle of a person's appearance.

"Very well … you step outside."

"But, I wanna see it."

"I'll call you when I have it on." her words came out harsher than she intended them to.

"Alright you don't have to get your drawers in a bunch."

"Matilda, that language is crude and unladylike. Where did you hear that phrase?"

"Uncle Festus …" Matilda replied as she shut the dressing room door.

Back in the main bedroom she saw her father in the rocking chair. His eyes were closed and he was snoring softly, in his hands was a silk shawl of a muted rose pattern. She studied him like that for a few moments trying to gage if he was really and truly asleep. When she decided he was she felt free to explore the room. It was a most elegant boudoir with lace curtains at the windows framed by heavy red velvet draperies. There were paintings on the wall of beautiful ladies in fancy gowns with pale bosoms which overflowed their extravagant dress. Atop the gilt mantle, was an intricately designed seven post candelabra with a pair of chubby cherubs embracing the center candle, and a multitude of shimmering prisms cascading down the side. Except for the sturdy rocker on which her father slept, the rest of the furniture was ornately Victorian, upholstered in heavy silk brocade. She walked about touching this, feeling that, with an awe heretofore, reserved to church. The only place Matilda had ever been that rivaled the opulence of her mother's apartment was the Archbishop's home, for once a year the children of the orphanage were given an audience with his Holiness. Even at such a young age, Matilda understood the deity honored by her mother and the Archbishop were different Gods entirely.

In Kitty Russell's dressing room, Miss Sydney Tuttwell wrestled with clothing and conscience. She stood in her practical starched white underwear looking at the gown hanging in front of her. It was a most beautiful piece of work, fashioned of sage green organza and decorated by a wealth of tiny aurora borealis beadwork.

Even with modest light the dress sparkled and glimmered and seemed possessed of a luminosity all its own. Miss Tuttwell did not remember ever seeing the saloon hostess wearing the gown, which she couldn't consider as too surprising since the two rarely saw each other on a social occasion other than the ladies aid and church obligations. This was not a dress suitable for either event. She guessed the gown to be several years old as the size was closer to her own than that of the voluptuous Kitty of recent time. She took the dress from the hanger and was besot by guilt. The garment stood for everything she'd been offended by its owners lifestyle. Yet … it was so beautiful, it couldn't hurt, she decided to just try it on, for when would she ever have such an opportunity again?

So she slipped it from the hanger and over her head. Even with the back unbuttoned she could see the transformation the garment brought. "Matilda," she called a little breathlessly, "Could you come in here please."

The little girl popped her head around the door and exclaimed, "Holy moly … Miss Tuttwell!"

"Button the back for me please." she sat down on a stool so the child could reach the buttons.

"Boy will Mr. Hinkle like you! It even fits in the bosoms." Matilda declared.

And it was true, the gown could have been made for Sydney Tuttwell. The dress transformed her long skinny neck into a graceful column, and the cut made her meager breasts swell enticingly. The color brought to life her hazel eyes.

Matilda stared down at her teacher's sturdy black shoes. "You got to have better shoes than that." Matilda glanced around the room and saw in the far corner twenty or more built in cubbyhole boxes and in the recesses of each box was a pair of shoes. "Bet she had special shoes to wear with that dress." Matilda insisted. She pulled over the stool and peered into each cubby until she pulled out a pair of satin slippers dyed to match the dress. "And look … there's a handbag to go with it!" Miss Tuttwell put on the slippers and then looked again at her reflection in the mirror.

"You look like a princess. You look like Cinderella!"

"I - I feel like Cinderella."

Her mother's love of dress up suddenly manifested itself in Matilda's persona, "Let's see what else we can find!"

The second dress she tried on was a coral and ivory stripped taffeta with shepherd's sleeves, full skirt and modest neckline. It was not as perfect a fit as the first dress, but could be easily altered. "Bet she had a hat to go with that one … she always had a hat to match her clothes when she came to see me." Matilda pulled the chair over to the hatbox shelf and began rifling through the boxes. "Here it is!"

The hat was small, decorated by three enormous coral colored plumes with a jaunty coral net which covered the wearer's eyes and by donning it Miss Sydney Elvira Tuttwell felt transformed into something she never imaged herself being.

"Look at this one Miss Tuttwell." Matilda declared excitedly. She had pulled the stepstool over to the dress rack and was picking through her mother's clothes. The piece Matilda held out was a luxurious water silk in a myriad of purple hues. It was styled with small off the shoulder cap sleeves and a V-cut neck line which was echoed in the waistline detail.

The graceful skirt was cut on the bias, so that it hugged the waist and hips of the wearer's body, but the generous hem flared in a full sweep. It was a gown made for a bold and beautiful woman.

"Try it on." Matilda encouraged.

Sydney couldn't take her eyes off the dress, she could imagine Miss Russell wearing it, although not here, not in Dodge City, perhaps in St Louis or New Orleans or even New York City, although she didn't know if Kitty Russell's travels had ever taken her in that direction, but the dress spoke of sophistication and supreme confidence.

"Aw, go on Miss Tuttwell … pul-ease … try it on?"

Again she hesitated, it was such an intimate invasion, trying on a dead woman's clothing. Questions jumbled through her brain. It was clear the gown hadn't been made in Dodge City, for even Mary Helgemoe's skill with a needle couldn't have mastered the intricate cut of the skirt. "French." Miss Tuttwell thought aloud, "French couture." She reached out to touch the dress and the fabric felt like liquid, so fluid was it.

"Your father must be in a hurry to go, I have the two dresses for the dinner party and wedding."

"He's sleeping … snoring his head off. Come on Miss Tuttwell, I wanna see it on."

She wavered and then acquiesced, "Very well, then."

Matilda pulled the stool behind Sydney, hopped up and began releasing the hook and eye closures. When she'd reached the bottom of the row she said, "You can't wear your underwear you gotta have a special corset."

"How do you know that?"

Matilda jumped down from the stool. "Cause, my doll Miss Kitty has this dress and my mother had underwear made to go with it."

"Your doll has the dress?"

"Umhmm … she … my mother had dresses made for my doll, that matched her own."

As Miss Tuttwell digested this latest information, Matilda rummaged through various bureau drawers looking for the corset that matched her doll's. Finally she found something that resembled it in cut. She brought it back to the teacher who was still waffling about the decision to try on the gown. Matilda tossed it into the hands of Sydney Tuttwell. "I'll wait in the bedroom, let me know if you need me."

The teacher stood for a moment and then let the striped taffeta fall from her body to the floor before picking it up and placing it on a hanger. She undid her own corset and replaced it with Kitty Russell's. She reached for the water silk and again marveled at how light and flowing the fabric was. She stepped into the dress and let it slide up her body. She swished her hips half way round in each direction and watched the skirt dance with her movements. Oh it was made to be danced in for the variations of the silk played with the colors and though she'd never worn purple she found the shade was a compliment to her complexion that brown and gray had never been. "Matilda." she said, and the little girl popped in the door way.

"You look prettier than my doll does in that dress."

Sydney Tuttwell had never thought of herself as pretty nor for that matter had anyone else, but there was magic in Kitty Russell's clothes that even the ever practical teacher had to admit to.

So in the end, Miss Tuttwell left Kitty Russell's boudoir with three evening gowns and four dresses, numerous undergarments, shoes, hats and handbags. Dillon's response was only a slight wince at the sight of the dresses as they were wrapped with a sheet.

"I took too many." Sydney said when she saw the facial flinch.

"Hell no, take whatever you want, I'll most likely have the rest burned one of these days." Discretion, always a strong suite in Dillon's repertoire came to the forefront. "Let's take the back stairs to the alley. No need having half of Dodge seeing what we're up to." He took the sheet wrapped dresses from her, so that she could carry the shoe boxes and Matilda could carry the hat boxes.

Matilda and Miss Tuttwell went ahead of him and he was left at the top of the stairs to lock the door. Had he been completely alone he might of cried, for so heartsick was he at the memories that flooded his thoughts. How many mornings had he left through this portal, knowing she was just on the other side of the door, warm and content from a nights worth of loving; knowing she'd be there come nightfall again.


	30. Chapter 30

**thirty**

Dinsdale Hinkle's home was a six room apartment located on the second floor of the Hinkle & McGoo Freight Co. building. It was a Spartan space, with only the bare necessities required for simple yet genteel living. There was a small butler's room off the kitchen, where Mose, a black man and former slave, took residence. There was also a dining room, front parlor and two equal sized bedrooms. The most extravagant feature was a built in mahogany bookshelf which spanned an entire wall in the dining room. The shelves were lined with texts and tomes of history, nature and classic works of the masters. A mahogany dining table of clean, unadorned lines, with six plain and sturdy chairs occupied the center area of the room, and overhead a slightly incongruous industrial strength Hintz-Halloway gas lamp provided light. It was here, seated at the table that Dinsdale and Attorney Roman Gundrum discussed Matilda's friend, the orphan girl, Emily.

"Of course, I will present the proper endorsements and references to confirm you as a God-fearing man of means, who will provide a proper home for the child. This should not be too difficult. However, were you married Mr. Hinkle, the matter would be simplified greatly."

Dinsdale nodded, "In due time that situation will be rectified. You will please relate to the Sisters of Charity, I will be married soon, and my wife will have more than adequate experience in dealing with young children."

Roman Gundrum raised a single eyebrow and bobbed his head at his clients revelation. He rose from his chair and gathered an array of documents from the table, "I'll get started on this immediately, sir."

**GS GS GS GS**

On Wednesday morning, Mrs. McGoo paid a call to Ma Smalley's Boarding House. She carried with her a cardboard box containing one of Cynthia's childhood dresses, along with a small sewing basket in case any minor adjustment would be needed in the fit. It was as Mrs. McGoo was assisting Matilda out of her gingham play dress that Miss Tuttwell knocked on Matilda's door.

"Door's open." Matilda called from under the skirt of her dress.

Miss Tuttwell cracked the door open and stuck her head around the corner, "Mrs. McGoo, I wonder if I might trouble you for a moment of your time after you've finished with Matilda?"

"Well certainly, Miss Tuttwell."

"Fine, Matilda will show you where my room is."

Sydney Elvira scurried back to her room and quickly stripped out of her brown skirt and practical white cotton shirtwaist. Underneath, she was wearing Miss Kitty's purple corset and matching satin petticoat. She took the *watered silk gown from it's hanger and stepped into it. It took a goodly amount of twisting and turning, but she managed to fasten the back hooks of the garment. Next, she removed the matching dance slippers from their box and slid them onto her feet. They were one-half size too small, and Sydney's practical nature warned her this could be trouble, but a newly found sense of vanity dismissed the idea. She hurried to her bureau mirror to catch a quick reflection before she covered the whole outfit with her flannel housecoat.

She'd tried the dress on for Ma the previous evening and Mrs. Smalley had voiced her personal view of the ball gown. "When I said you should go out and have a little fun, I weren't thinking you should do it dressed up like Taffy Boyd."

Of course those comments had taken some of the shine off the dress. Thus, Miss Tuttwell had determined she needed the opinion of another woman who was a little more attuned to what Dodge City Society would be wearing to the Bodkin party.

It seemed to her she waited forever before there was a knock on her door. "Please enter." Miss Tuttwell said.

Matilda skipped into the room followed by Myrtle McGoo, who gave Miss Tuttwell a quizzical look at the sight of the flannel housecoat. "What did you need me for?"

"Mrs. McGoo, I feel you are someone I can take into my confidence." Miss Tuttwell released the tie closure on her robe and removed it. "This gown belonged to Kitty Russell. Mr. Dillon made the offer of several items of her clothing."

Mrs. McGoo blinked her sweet blue eyes and moved closer for a better look. She took her spectacles from a pocket in her skirt and put them on. Miss Tuttwell continued, "However, I do fear, in wearing this dress, I will be taking part in a charade, and open myself up to ridicule for trying to be something I am not. On the other hand, if I wear my own clothes, I will be doing Mr. Hinkle and our hostess a disservice."

Mrs. McGoo hardly heard a word of Miss Tuttwell's speech, so focused was she on Kitty Russell's gown, "Exquisite!" she said, "Simply exquisite."

"Is it appropriate for the dinner party at the Bodkin home?"

As a seamstress herself, Mrs. McGoo was completely taken aback by the workmanship, "This gown is a work of art, so complex in the pattern design, yet the overall effect is simple elegance. Refreshing in this day and age of bustles, ruffles, frills and lace." Mrs. McGoo slowly circled Miss Tuttwell and when she was again facing the teacher she said, "Aha! See here …" She touched the left off the shoulder cap sleeve, "There would have been a corsage here. I can see the tiny pin holes where it was attached. Knowing Miss Russell, I would guess it a rather ornate spray of silk flowers."

Matilda agreed, "That's right, Miss Kitty … my doll … has flowers on her dress."

"Go get it Mattie, so we can study it, perhaps we can fashion a copy, for Miss Tuttwell."

Mrs. McGoo continued to study the dress. "Why, I declare, this is all hand sewn, no one does that these days … certainly this isn't a recent creation, although it appears to have hardly been worn at all.

"Is it out of fashion?"

"No, I'd say not, in fact I saw a similar cut in a recent publication of ELEGANCE DE PARIS. Classic lines like this never goes out of style."

Matilda returned with Miss Kitty tucked under her arm and the doll dress and undergarments clamped between her fingers. She handed them to Mrs. McGoo who marveled at the completeness of the doll clothes.

"Imagine that, she even had the corset and under slip replicated. Oh my … they are certainly … French."

Miss Tuttwell, feeling slightly scandalous admitted, "I have them on as well."

"You do?"

"Yes, with the exception of the floral spray … Miss Russell had all the accouterments necessary for the complete ensemble." With that admission, both ladies, being indeed ladies, blushed.

Across the hall, Taffy Boyd was just getting moving for the day when the sound of feminine footsteps tapping against the wood floors hastened her progress. She slipped into a silk and ruffled peignoir and padded across the hall. She rapped on Miss Tuttwell's door and then sashayed right in.

Her eyes popped wide and she clapped her hands together, "Oh my Sugar, you're a knock out!" She chuckled, "Who woulda thought it?" Now to be clear Miss Taffy would never have been so magnanimous in her praise had Miss Tuttwell's date been Matt Dillon, but the benign Dinsdale Hinkle, even despite his affluence, held no charms for the saloon hostess.

Ma had also made her way up to the second floor, with the excuse of fresh linen in her arms. She wiggled her way into the bedroom to stand next to Mrs. McGoo. They watched as Taffy Boyd pushed Miss Tuttwell in front of the small mirror. "We'll need to do something with your hair, I can help you with that, and maybe a little rouge on your cheekbones."

Ma set the linens down and spoke up, "Miss Taffy this ain't no can-can dance at the Lady Gay, this is a highfalutin affair …"

Mrs. McGoo concurred, "We can't have Miss Tuttwell looking like a common street strumpet."

"Leave it to me," Taffy Boyd said, tapping her ample chest, "When I'm finished with the school marm, Mr. Dinsdale Hinkle's gonna thing he's got the Lady Vanderbilt on his arm." Taffy squinted her eyes at Mrs. McGoo, "You know Myrtle, a little face powder wouldn't hurt you none either."

Mrs. McGoo caught sight of her rosy complexion in the bureau mirror and had to agree, "Perhaps you're right Miss Taffy." To Sydney, she said, "I believe I have a silk floral spray that will be perfect with your dress Miss Tuttwell. I will send it on over and perhaps Mrs. Smalley will help you attach it to the gown."

After everyone else had left Matilda walked up to her teacher. "Miss Tuttwell, I don't think Miss Kitty was ever afraid to show off how pretty she was. I don't think you should be either."

On Wednesday afternoon, before she went off to work at the Long Branch, Taffy Boyd brought Miss Tuttwell over to her room. The furniture and layout matched the suite in Miss Tuttwell's room, but that's where the similarity ended. For there was red velvet and gold tassels everywhere the eye looked. Like Kitty's dressing room, Taffy's bedroom held a variety of mirrors. "Come sit at my vanity table Sugar, and I'll see what I can do."

Miss Tuttwell moved hesitantly, "Come on dearie, I don't have all day." Taffy Boyd urged.

Cautiously, Miss Tuttwell approached the vanity table and sat down. Taffy stood behind her and they both stared ahead studying the other's reflection in the mirror. Taffy smiled, and one could judge by that smile, there was still something of a soft heart left in the saloon hostess. "Let's see what we have to work with." She loosened the pins that held Miss Tuttwell's tightly bound hair. "Shake your head dearie." Miss Tuttwell did and her long brown hair swung freely from side to side. "nice hair, and thick too," she commented as she raised a brush to it. Taffy proved to have a talent as a hairdresser, for with skillful use of a curling rod, wave iron, hair rolls to add height and decorative combs she created a do as fashionable as any Dodge City Socialite might hope to achieve. Miss Tuttwell was duly impressed until Taffy picked up a jar of rouge. "Now let's see if we can add a little color to that face of yours. Pout your mouth a little."

"What?"

"You know, like someone's gonna kiss you." Taffy pursed her own lips in example.

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Honey, you've got so much to learn. Men like soft lips. Makes them want to kiss you."

"I've only just met Mr. Hinkle, I hardly think any form of physical affection is in order."

Taffy leaned over so their faces were level with one another, "Miss Tuttwell, the secret is … wanting ain't always getting."

Moderation was not exactly part and parcel of Taffy Boyd's style, and once she got started with the face paint she didn't know when to stop. Miss Tuttwell allowed the other woman to have her way but she silently decided she would wash it off as soon as Miss Taffy headed for the Long Branch.

Taffy was pleased with her efforts, "Honey, I've got to get going … Miss Hannah will have a hissy-fit if I'm late. But, I'm going to give you the rouge, face powder and eye kohl, so you can add a dab more just before you leave for the party." Impulsively, she gave Miss Tuttwell a little cheek hug, "I'll expect to hear every detail when you get back, tonight."

Miss Tuttwell returned to her room and stood in front of her bureau looking at the elaborately made up face in the mirror. She actually cracked a smile at the sight of it. Then she went to her chamber basin, and washed away the paint. She returned to the mirror for another look. She saw her old plain self again, and felt a moment of regret. She decided there must be a look in between unadorned and street trollop and so she experimented with just a little bit of the rouge, a little bit of the powder and a scant amount of the eye kohl. It really wasn't that difficult to achieve a look that showed off her bone structure and added just a hint of color in the right places. And because Sydney Tuttwell was a quick study, she even pouted her lips, just a might, when she added the rouge to them.

**GS GS GS GS**

Dillon tied the bow on Matilda's dress, no matter how many times he attempted this task the bow came out lopsided. "Have Mrs. McGoo work on this when we get to her house. We best be going."

"Don't you want to see what Miss Tuttwell looks like before we go?" Matilda asked.

"We'll see her at the party."

"But … she looks real pretty, you ought to see her."

"No buts Matilda, Mrs. McGoo's waiting for us."

So, Dillon dressed in black trousers, white shirt and old tweed jacket and Matilda, in Cynthia's pretty pink dress with lopsided bow left for Mrs. McGoo's house without seeing how Miss Tuttwell had turned out in Kitty Russell's clothes.

**GS GS GS GS**

Mr. Hinkle arrived for Miss Tuttwell at 7:30. For a moment he was speechless and for the first time in her life Sydney Tuttwell knew the power of looking attractive to the opposite sex. After a pause, Mr. Hinkle smiled and said warmly, "My dear Miss Tuttwell, you look lovely."

The Bodkin's lived in a grand limestone house** built on a hill just North East of Dodge City. A circular drive led to the front portico where a coachman waited. Mr. Hinkle handed the reins to the coachman and then assisted Miss Tuttwell from the conveyance. She took his arm and together they walked up the small flight of stairs to the massive double doors. Because it was a warm night, the windows were open and they could hear a small orchestra playing and there was the merry sound of people partying in good humor. They made their entrance between songs, so that the attention of the guests was not on the music or the dance but on the tall, slender couple standing beneath the arched entry between foyer and parlor. Mr. Hinkle was easy to dismiss, for even fine clothes did not make him handsome, but Miss Tuttwell, with her perfect posture, long neck, elegantly coiffed head and beautiful gown truly made an impression. There were murmurs amidst the ladies as they realized their own efforts had fallen short compared to the woman before them. Then, there was the hum of recognition as the locals realized that this Cinderella in front of them was none other than their own Miss Tuttwell.

The small orchestra picked up their instruments and began to play the popular, Tales from the Vienna Woods by Strauss. Mr. Hinkle seeing Mrs. McGoo eyeing them, took Miss Tuttwell's smartly gloved hand in his and swept her onto the dance floor. She had been schooled in the waltz, for every well educated young woman of the time was and although it had been years ago that she'd actually performed the dance, the steps came back to her. Mr. Hinkle also, was well aware of the waltz, and furthermore his long, angular body leant itself well to the movements. Miss Kitty's luminous gown caught the light from a hundred candles. The full sweep of the dress swished and swirled about Miss Tuttwell's shapely ankles as if an equal partner to the dance, "Smile" Mr. Hinkle whispered softly, kindly in her ear, "Everyone is watching us … smile." And she did.

The Marshal had been standing next to the punch table with two fresh glasses in hand, one for himself and one to take to Mrs. McGoo, when Kitty's dress caught his eye. He sucked in air for he had a sudden recall of the one event she had worn the gown. It had been St Louis, at least fifteen years earlier, their first real trip together. They had been the guest of Adolph Meister a renowned master brewer who had been smitten with Kitty and had requested their presence at a party he was hosting. Kitty, feeling certain she had nothing suitable for such an affair, had on impulse stopped at the shop of Madame Duchesse d'Angouleme, a celebrated French couturiere residing in St Louis. She saw the gown draped over a mannequin. The Madame had explained, the dress had been sewn to order but the buyer had changed her mind and now it was for sale waiting for someone bold enough to purchase it. It had cost her more money than Dillon made in an entire year but it had been worth it, or so Miss Kitty said.

Now, he watched in somber silence, as Mr. Hinkle and Miss Tuttwell danced. With movements well calculated, he, leading faultlessly, she, following his lead with an almost mechanized perfection. Like music box dancers, their rise and fall, their sweeps and turns seemed gracefully effortless. It had not been the case, when he'd danced with Kitty, for he'd always felt out of step and had to silently count, 1-2-3, 1-2-3. His feet were too big, his stride too long, effortless grace and style not part of his constitution. Kitty had been lithe and supple in his arms, but he had stepped on her toes nearly tripping them up. She had laughed then, head back, eyes sparkling, she'd laughed with the joy of the moment and held him tighter to her. So that despite his own inadequacies on the dance floor, he'd felt the magic that the waltz and love can bring. What he wouldn't give for one more dance with Kitty in his arms. In a room filled with people he felt alone.

Mrs. McGoo, her plump proportions elegantly clad in periwinkle blue satin moved to stand beside him. Her usually pleasant features held a hint of a scowl and her normally smooth brow was slightly furrowed as she too watched Miss Tuttwell and Mr. Hinkle - her Mr. Hinkle. The knowledge of her own emotion hit her like a slap. She was jealous! She gave a sidelong glance at her escort and saw emotion written on his face as well, it was a sentiment she knew all too well. Longing, longing for what was and might never be again. What a pair they were. "Marshal Dillon, would you like to ask me to dance?" She questioned.

"Maybe later, Mrs. McGoo." He handed her one of the punch glasses and set the other still full glass back on the table. "Excuse me, I need some fresh air."

He stayed out in the garden longer than would be considered polite and finally Mrs. McGoo sent Matilda out to get him.

There was moonlight and gaslight enough for her to find her father. He was sitting on a bench staring blindly ahead. She came to sit beside him. "Watcha doing out here?" She asked.

"Got hot in there."

"Mrs. McGoo wants to dance, I told her I don't think you're much good at dancing.

"You don't huh?"

"Nope, but she said to get you anyway."

He nodded his head but didn't make a move to get up. She studied him for a moment, "Are you sad?"

He winced but answered, "No."

She knew he was lying, for she'd had her own experience with being sad. Being sad was part of life, you had to get over it. It never dawned on young Matilda that offering an embrace, or some form of daughterly affection might ease his pain. For during those times she'd felt sad and alone there had been no one to offer physical comfort to her.

She stood up, "Come on." She encouraged.

"You go on ahead. Tell Mrs. McGoo, I'll be there directly."

She frowned and said with a sigh, "Okay."

He might have stayed out there for the rest of the night - lost in his own dark thoughts, had Festus not appeared at the Bodkin front doors. Dillon was promptly summoned from the garden. A small formally dressed crowd had gathered around the scruffy Deputy Hagen by the time Dillon arrived, "What's wrong?" He asked.

"There's trouble at Moon Bar, Susan Barts got herself shot … ranch hand brought her in … she's up at Doc's. It don't look too good, Matthew."

**FYI**

_* Watered silk is a textile which has a moire pattern, a rippling illusory pattern created by lines which are superimposed on each other. The textile enjoyed immense popularity in the late 1800s, and appears in fashion now and again, especially in the field of formal wear. The name is a reference to the appearance of the pattern, rather than a stage in the manufacturing process. When well made, watered silk resembles a body of water with small waves trembling in a breeze. In a flowing gown or jacket, watered silk can look quite stunning._

_**Miller-Schmidt House 1881, Dodge City, KA_


	31. Chapter 31

**Thirty-one**

Matilda, along with several other children at the Bodkin party, sat on the top step looking down at the scene in the entrance hall. She watched as her father moved swiftly toward the door following his deputy. His demeanor had transformed from dark melancholy to duty bound. He had wasted little time on apologies to his host or Mrs. McGoo. It wasn't until his hand met the door that he turned almost as an afterthought, to scan the guests seeking out the face of his daughter. He found her on the second sweep.

He held her eyes for a mere heart beat, ending the connection with the slightest nod of his head before continuing out the door. Matilda wasn't sure what that all meant and would have pondered it had not Angel Louise's brother, Philip punched her in the shoulder and proclaimed, "You're it!" The boy jumped up and dashed down the hallway. Matilda promptly took chase, lopsided bow flying behind her.

**GS GS GS GS**

The stairs up to Adams' office seemed interminable and his feet felt as lead. His mind traveled years in the course of this short journey. "Doc says, it don't look good." was all Hagen had had to say. A part of Matt Dillon wanted to believe this was just another ruse on Susan's part. She'd always been good at that from the very first he'd come to know her. Her face flashed his memory. She'd been something all right, in those early years, before power and money had changed her. She'd been soft and lovely and sweetly innocent. The innocence was the first to go, her prettiness had given way to a hard shell that made mortal males question their own manhood. For one look from those cold eyes could shrink a fellow down to size. Oh she was something … and had Kitty not been in his life he knew he'd have set about to tame Miss Susan. He turned the knob and gave the door a push. He swallowed back a surge of guilt before entering the office, Susan's innocence … that was the one thing he could lay claim to … for he'd been the one to take it.

She was on the operating table at the center of the room. Her features slack, her skin pale and her breathing shallow. Doc stood beside her. Not turning to look at Dillon, he voiced the answer to Matt's unspoken question, "She's lost too much blood. I've got the bleeding stopped, for now. But, I got to get the bullet out. I don't know if she can survive that."

"Did she say who did this?"

Doc shook his head.

"Can I talk to her?"

"You can try, but just for a minute, she needs all the strength she's got left."

Adams stepped away and Matt took his place. "Susan." He said, but there was no response. He tried again. "Susan." He picked up her hand and held it in his. "Susan." And then softer, like a whisper, "Susie … it's Matt … tell me who did this." There was a change in her respiration and he knew he'd connected. "Who did this to you?"

Her eyes struggled to open, they fluttered for a second and then closed again. She forced air between her lips and tried to move them to form the word. He leaned closer so that his ear was just above her mouth. "ahh…ahg…" Was all she could say.

Doc put a hand to Dillon's arm. "Alright Matt … that's enough. She's got to rest."

Susan's eyes fluttered open again. She fought to hold focus on his face. Emotion welled up inside of him. He didn't completely trust his voice. "You rest now."

She was fighting to hold his eyes - fighting to convey to him what she wanted so desperately to say, but didn't have the strength. He understood the message, he leaned down and softly lay his lips to her forehead. He swallowed hard, "I'll see you in the morning … Susie."

**GS GS GS GS**

The festivities were over at the Bodkin's, he'd seen several carriages of party goers making their way down Front Street toward the Dodge House. His stride was long and purposeful as he walked to the Long Branch to see if he could find Susan's ranch hand, Homer Sinclair. There was no grief based nostalgia for Dillon on this visit to the saloon. This was all about duty. Sentiment never mixed well with duty and the badge. He spotted Sinclair at a back table with Taffy Boyd and a small crowd of locals speculating on Sinclair's details of what had happened to Susan Barts.

Sinclair looked up when he saw Matt approach the table, "I figured you'd be looking for me Marshal. How's Miss Susan doing?"

"Alive. What happened to her?"

Sinclair's attitude was cavalier, "She was shot."

"Who shot her?"

"Don't know … I was here in town this afternoon picking up supplies, when I got back to Moon Bar, I went up to the house to talk with Miss Susan … couldn't find her. Cookie said he hadn't seen her all afternoon. We're short handed, most of the boys are out on the range. I was getting kinda worried … then I heard her dog barking … you know that scruffy mutt that follows her around at the ranch … I went back outside and headed toward the sound of the barking. Found her back by the family cemetery. She was laying over her Pa's grave. Sent the chills up my spine, I don't mind telling. She was hardly breathing and bleeding real bad. Me'n Cookie decided it was best to get her to Doc straightaway."

"What time was it that you found her?"

"Not sure, light out yet … five maybe going on six, like I said, I ain't rightly sure."

'Did she say anything."

"No … not a word, hardly even moaned."

Dillon stared the ranch hand down for a moment, "I'll ride out to Moon Bar with you in the morning until then, don't leave town."

"Wasn't planning on going anywhere tonight."

**GS GS GS GS**

He'd spent the next hour at his office with Festus, drinking bad coffee and trying to sort through the meager evidence at his disposal.

"Miss Susan couldn't tell you nothing?"

"She tried, but she was too weak."

Hagen scratched his stubbly chin, "One thing's certain sure we got us a heap more questions then we got answers. "

"Let's just hope Susan is able to give us some answers." He glanced up at the clock ticking away on the jailhouse wall. He grabbed his hat, and moved to the door, "Going to be a busy day tomorrow, better get some shut-eye."

The boarding house was dark. He used his key to get in the back door and startled Miss Tuttwell, who was dressed in nightgown and robe and standing in front of the open ice box.

"Raiding the cupboards?" he asked.

She raised the pitcher of buttermilk in answer. "How is Miss Barts?"

"Not good."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He nodded. "Do you know Miss Tuttwell; is Matilda here or did Mrs. McGoo take her home?"

"I brought Matilda home Mr. Dillon, and she is tucked in her bed."

"You did? Well, thank you." He answered. "I guess I better be heading on up too. Good night."

"Good morning." she corrected.

In his room he took off his jacket and loosened the neck tie, he saw the connecting door between his and Matilda's room was ajar and he picked up his lamp and went to check on her. She was snug in her little bed with the doll Miss Kitty, dressed in a purple water silk ball gown clutched in her arms. For a moment he forgot the resentment he usually felt when performing paternal duties, as he watched her he saw one eye open. "Matilda …" he said.

She bounced up in bed, "I was waiting for you."

"Oh …"

"I was afraid you were going away and I wouldn't get to say goodbye. But, you did kind of say good bye didn't you? When you looked at me … that's what you were saying wasn't it?"

"Yes. Did you have a good time at the party."

"I had lots of fun."

"You and Angel Louise get along?"

"She wasn't with us, 'cause she's going to be a brides lady, so she wanted to eat at the big table with the rest of the brides ladies. I don't think she had much fun, she spilled her milk during the dinner and she had a hissy fit."

"'Hissy Fit', where'd you learn that word?"

"Oh, Miss Taffy told me, it's like getting your drawers in a bunch. I like Angel's brother, Phillip. He's real nice. He's my boyfriend."

"Now wait a minute, don't you think you're a little too young for a boy friend, and besides he's too old for you. He's twice your age."

"Na aaaa, if he was twice my age he'd be fourteen, he's only twelve."

He sat down on the bed, suddenly glad for her company, "What did you children do?"

"They had a man who did tricks, and there was a lady who sang funny songs. We ate finger food … you know what that is?"

"Tell me."

She giggled, "it's food you eat with your fingers."

"Did you see what the grownups were doing?"

"Sure, I checked on them every once in a while. Miss Tuttwell was always dancing."

"I bet Mr. Hinkle's soaking his feet about now."

"Oh it wasn't just Mr. Hinkle she was dancing with … she had lots of boyfriends tonight."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "What about Mrs. McGoo?"

"Mr. Hinkle danced with her."

"Miss Tuttwell said she brought you home?"

"Um hum … 'cause me and Miss Tuttwell went looking for Mrs. McGoo and Mr. Hinkle when it was time to go, and you know what?"

"What?"

She perched on her haunches, "We saw them kissing out by the garden."

"What!"

"Yup, kissing, on the lips! Miss Tuttwell pulled me away and started talking about us riding in one of the Bodkin's carriages back to town. They were going back and forth between their house and the Dodge House. So that's what we did."

Matilda yawned. "I guess Mr. Hinkle likes Mrs. McGoo."

"Sounds like it."

"Has she ever kissed you … on the lips, I mean?"

"Not that it's any of your business young lady, but no she hasn't." He scowled at her, "time for you to get back under the covers again and go to sleep."

"Are you going away tomorrow?"

He nodded as he made an effort to straighten out her blanket.

"I don't want you to go … but I guess you have to. Someone got shot and you have to find out who did it. That's what Philip told me."

"He's right. Now put your head on the pillow."

She did as he requested. "Who got shot?"

"A lady."

"Do you know her?"

"I've known her for a long time."

Matilda rolled on her side and raised up on her elbow, "Do you like her?"

"Yes."

"The same way you liked Miss Kitty?"

"No."

Matilda picked up her doll and danced her across the bedclothes. "Is she as pretty as Miss Kitty was?"

"No." He took the doll and tucked her under the covers too. She gave him her mother's smile and he couldn't help but smile back, "You know, you looked mighty pretty tonight."

She fixed a stray hair on her doll, "I did look pretty." She was real quiet and then she looked up to her father. "I wish Miss Kitty could have seen me." He was surprised by a sudden show of tears in her eyes, which she quickly backhanded away.

"You sad?" He asked.

She nodded, for the first time fully exposing her heart to him. His gut tightened. "Aw Matilda." He said, and pulled her from the bed to cradle in his arms, holding her like a baby, close to him.


	32. Chapter 32

**CHAPTER 32**

Too much to deal with, his mind going at a run, Matt Dillon got up from his bed. It was hot and he moved to the window to open it wider. That didn't help, there wasn't enough of a breeze to make a difference. He pulled on his pants, slipped on his shirt and decided to follow Miss Tuttwell's lead and see if she'd left him any buttermilk. Not that he was a fan of buttermilk, but at least it would be cold. 'A beer', he thought, on a night like this, he and Kitty would sit out on the small back balcony of the Long Branch drinking beer and listening to the night music. He wondered then, if the time would ever come when every little moment in life wouldn't draw him to Kitty as a point of reference.

The house was quiet save for the soft sounds of Taffy Boyd getting ready for bed. She'd had a late night as well. He didn't want to run into her so he made an effort to keep his footsteps quiet.

In the kitchen he poured himself a large glass of buttermilk and headed for the back porch, It was dark, and most likely this is the reason he didn't realize he wasn't alone until Miss Tuttwell spoke up.

"Mr. Dillon, you should be sleeping."

Her voice gave him a start but he recovered quickly. "So should you Miss Tuttwell."

"I can't sleep. I keep telling myself what I fool I was."

"How's that?"

"Thinking I could get away with wearing Kitty Russell's ball gown. I imagine I have provided Dodge City with jocular fodder for a long time to come."

"You looked good." he answered honestly, "I understand from Matilda you had your share of dance partners."

"True, all except the one I came with."

"Yup, Matilda told me that too."

"When I put her to bed, I told her to go right to sleep!"

There was a smile in his voice. "She was waiting up for me." He took a drink of the buttermilk and again wished for beer, "Seems we both came out on the short end in the romance department."

"I didn't know you were looking for romance."

"No, Miss Tuttwell, I'm not, and to be honest, I'm glad it worked out like it did. Although, it leaves Matilda without a mother and me heading out of town for who knows how long. Kitty would not be happy with me."

"I will keep an eye on Matilda for you."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"Mr. Dillon, I like Matilda. She's bright and good hearted and she has the ability to do what few people can …"

"What's that?"

"She makes me smile."

**GS GS GS GS**

He got about three hours of sleep that night. He was back at Doc's by sunup.

The air in the physician's apartment was rank with the smell of blood and dying. The mood was somber.

"How is she?"

"Conscious." The old doctor's face was grizzled with day old whiskers. Circles rimmed his blood shot eyes. Dried blood spattered a shirt that had long since lost it's starch.

"She going to make it?"

Adams shook his head sadly, "I got the bullet out, but it did too much damage … "

"Can I see her?"

"She's been asking for you."

"She in pain?"

Adams shook his head, "No, no pain."

Susan was still on Doc's operating table, but now she had two pillows propping her up. With stone set face, Matt Dillon studied her. She looked dead and it wasn't until she opened her eyes, that he knew she wasn't. He leaned in close, his voice was kind, "Susie?"

"You … came."

"I told you I would.'

"No … time."

He tried to smile, "You've got plenty of time left."

"Not so … want to … say … sorry."

He swallowed hard, "I am too … " He picked up her hand, "Who did this to you?"

A low moan escaped from Susan's throat. She coughed and a small dribble of red escaped from the corner of her mouth, Matt wiped it off with a damp cloth from the nearby washstand.

"Shar … low."

"Kingston Sharlow, but, he's been in Colorado … robbed a stagecoach around Squaw Creek."

"No … came yester … day."

"Why did he shoot you?"

"Three years … back range … hideout … rustled cattle …I … let them … paid me …" she coughed again, and closed her eyes. After a moment she opened them and continued in a weaker voice, "couldn't have kept ranch going without money … came back … didn't want his money … wanted you … " Her eyes lost focus, her breathing was labored.

"Susie." He took the damp cloth and ran it soothingly over her face.

She blinked her eyes and summoned strength, "told him … leave … he wouldn't … said in too deep … said he'd get … you."

"Why me?"

"Bates … is Sharlow's … boy."

Again she coughed, this time more violently, and began retching blood. "Doc." Matt called.

" … sor … ry." she gasped.

"Shhh, it's all right. You can rest easy. It's all right now."

Susan looked to him with eyes that burned to his soul and then with a deep shuddering breath she died.

**GS GS GS GS**

"Get ready to ride." Matt told Festus a short time later. "I want you to round up every able body man you can find, tell them to bring a bed roll and food. Meet in front of the office at high noon."

Back at the boarding house, he knocked on Miss Tuttwell's door. It took her a moment before she answered for it seemed she'd only just fallen asleep. "Who is it?" She asked with groggy voice.

"Matt Dillon."

She cracked the door. "What do you want?"

"I want you to marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me … now … Judge Brooker's in town, he can say the words we'll be married within the hour."

"You must be out of your mind."

"Look, I don't have time to discuss this, will you marry me or not … for Matilda … if I don't come back, I need to know she will be looked after and be legally protected."

Sydney Tuttwell hard stared him for a solid fifteen seconds before her features relaxed in understanding, "I'll be ready in ten minutes. You'd better get Matilda up, she'll want to see this."


	33. Chapter 33

**Thirty-three**

Sydney Tuttwell and Matt Dillon were married at Mrs. Smalley's Boarding House late that morning. The virgin bride wore a dark skirt and white high necked shirtwaist. Her brown hair was pulled taunt and contained in a tightly wound bun at the back of her head. The unlikely groom was dressed in well worn canvas pants, faded work shirt and scuffed brown leathered vest. His gun and holster, tools of his trade, were strapped on his side and in his hand he held a sweat stained Stetson. His ever faithful buckskin gelding, saddled and packed for the trail, was tied to the hitching rail out front.

In the formal parlor reserved for special occasions, Judge Brooker, presided over the ceremony. Matilda stood next to Miss Tuttwell and Ma Smalley stood on the other side of the child. Grandpa Heitzer acted as best man, since the Marshal's closest friends were otherwise occupied that morning, and Grandma Heitzer played the piano and sang 'Oh Promise Me.' Taffy Boyd, awakened by the morning ruckus had proved an incredulous witness to the ceremony.

There was no kiss after the vows were exchanged, but the Marshal did voice a thank you and handshake before he headed toward the door. Matilda ran after him. "I don't want to say good bye with my eyes." She said, "I want to say good bye with my arms." He bent to one knee and wrapped his arms around her. "Please come back soon." she whispered in his ear.

"As soon as I can." He replied.

The wedding party and guest followed the groom to his horse and stood on the porch of the boarding house as he and a fair number of the able bodied male population of Dodge City rode away.

Mrs. Smalley announced, "Cookies and lemonade in the dining room - didn't have time to bake no wedding cake," and the assemblage headed back into the boarding house for a makeshift reception. It was just Matilda and the teacher on the porch, watching the cloud of dust from the posse grow smaller in the distance. "What should I call you now?" Matilda asked looking up at her new step-mother.

"What would you like to call me?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. "

"I would suggest Matilda, that you continue to address me as you have until such time as a more suitable name becomes comfortable to you."

"You mean like 'mother'?"

Sydney nodded, "I don't think I'm ready to be called mother yet either. But, I'm sure, one day it will seem perfectly natural to both of us."

They walked back into the house and Matilda stopped in her step, "Miss Tuttwell?"

"Yes?" The teacher turned and leaned forward, toward the child.

"Do you think we should tell Mrs. McGoo what happened?"

"I believe that would be the proper etiquette under such circumstances."

"Things are sure confusing aren't they Miss Tuttwell?"

Sydney straightened her spine and adjusted the set of her shoulders, "We'll get them sorted out."

That afternoon Matilda and the new Mrs. Dillon walked over to Mrs. McGoo's home. Prudence took them to the parlor where Mrs. McGoo was sitting, occupied in fancy work.

Mrs. McGoo had heard of the marriage of Marshal Dillon and Miss Tuttwell from Mr. Hinkle as they had dined together for their noon-day meal. "I am frankly shocked." He had stated. To which Mrs. McGoo replied, "I understand her name was on the list from Kitty Russell, further down the list from my name of course."

In entered Sydney and Matilda, Mrs. McGoo stood and offered a hand in the younger woman's direction. "I understand best wishes are in order."

"News travels fast."

"Yes dear, at least in Dodge City it does." She turned to look at the child, and a small part of her heart cracked a little, "Mattie, you have a new mother, I imagine you are very happy."

"Yes ma'am."

"You know, I was hoping to be your new mother, but last night at the Bodkin's dinner party, I found out a secret my heart was keeping from me, and do you know what that secret was?"

"I think I do … me and Miss Tuttwell saw you kissing Mr. Hinkle right smack dab on his lips."

Her round rosy face took on a more vivid hue, "Oh, I am embarrassed. Miss Tuttwell … I mean Mrs. Dillon, I'm so sorry you had to see that." She nervously bit her lower lip, "I do hope it wasn't the reason for your hasty marriage."

Mrs. Dillon put her hand on Matilda's thin shoulder, she managed a slight uplift of her lips, "Mr. Dillon and I want to provide Matilda with the home and family she deserves."

Mrs. McGoo nodded her head in understanding, "Ah, yes, you are still young, you can give her a family of brothers and sisters as well." Her smile was much warmer than her counterpart as she beckoned Matilda to her, "You know Mattie, you are very special to me and you always will be. I so longed to be a mother again, and with you in my life that dream was fulfilled. But now you have a new mother, and do you know what?"

"What?"

Mrs. McGoo's eyes moistened with happiness, "After Mr. Hinkle and I marry, we are going to adopt your little friend Emily from the orphanage in New Orleans, we've made arrangements for her to come to Dodge City. So you see, she will have a home too."

Matilda's eyes opened wide and a smile gladdened her features, "Really? Emily is coming here! You're going to be Emily's mama?"

"Are you happy, dear?"

"Oh yes! I am very happy." She thought for a moment, "Is Emily going to wear the flower dress for Cynthia's wedding?"

"It will be several weeks before Emily arrives. So that job belongs to you, if you still want to do it?"

"Yes'm, yes I do." her brow furrowed, "what about Matt Dillon, is he still going to give Cynthia away?"

Mrs. McGoo, shook her head, "I don't think he'll mind, do you, if we give that job back to Mr. Hinkle?"

"I think he'll be real happy he doesn't have to do it."

Mrs. McGoo bent to one knee and pulled Matilda into her arms, "Do you see dear, sometimes things do work out for the best?"

**GS GS GS GS**

They left a short time later, walking at a relatively brisk pace. Mrs. Dillon was deep in thought as Matilda chatted away about her best friend coming to Dodge City. The new bride, however, was focused on Mrs. McGoo's statement that she could give Matilda siblings. The words brought home the truth about marriage, one Sydney Elvira Tuttwell frankly, had not considered when she said "I do." It came to her with some shock, that while she considered this marriage a business arrangement, it was quite likely the Marshal had other ideas. Well, she'd just see about that, she thought.

The following morning Sydney made a visit with Attorney Roman Gundrum. She described the situation to the lawyer. "So you see sir, this marriage is one of convenience. As such, I believe a contract is in order stipulating rights and obligations."

"Generally, Mrs. Dillon, a verbal agreement between the parties in question is considered all that is necessary in such circumstances."

"Sir, I prefer the requisites written in black and white, so there can be no area for dispute."

"Mr. Dillon is an honorable man, I'm certain he wouldn't take unfair advantage of you."

"He is a man of the law, therefore, a legal contract will guarantee my rights."

Mr. Gundrum offered a fatherly smile, "Many times these marriages have a way of taking hold and becoming something more than a legal arrangement."

"That, is what I wish to avoid."

"Very well. I will draw up the contract. When Mr. Dillon gets back from his current business, we will go over the terms of the agreement and sign the paperwork."

"Thank you." She felt some better after that.

Later that afternoon, Ma Smalley knocked on Sydney's bedroom door. "I was wondering … Miss ... es Dillon … feels right queer to call you that … if you and the Marshal will be sleeping in this room, or if you plan to move into his room. His room would make more sense since it has a connecting door to Matilda's, but of course the choice is yours. Either way, I'd like to get the other room rented out as soon as I can."

Sydney's face remained expressionless, "The room arrangements will continue unchanged Mrs. Smalley."

"But …"

"Unchanged Mrs. Smalley. I will keep my room and the Marshal will remain in his room."

And so it went, the lives of Matt Dillon's bride and daughter remained much as they had before the vows were exchanged. On Saturday, Sydney dressed in her sensible brown gabardine suit, for she had no reason to impress anyone by wearing one of Kitty Russell's gowns. She assisted Matilda into the flower girl dress and accompanied her to the church for the marriage of Cynthia McGoo to Douglas Bodkin.

Matilda did a fine job as flower girl, tossing rose petals and smiling as she skipped gaily down the aisle. From the pew, her step-mother watched with a newly emerging maternal pride. However, there was a slight hitch to Sydney's heartbeat as she saw Mr. Hinkle escort the bride to the altar. For in Mr. Hinkle, she had seen a possible future with someone who shared her intellectual interests. She had considered that a reasonable trade for her independent isolation. What she had bargained for now, was anyone's guess.


	34. Chapter 34

**Thirty-four**

The sun was big in the sky as the posse left Dodge City that day. The heady thrill of danger spurring them on. Most of the riders were inexperienced and impatient to get started on their adventure. Chasing down the outlaws was the stuff legends were made from and each was eager to leave a mark. The thought they were riding into danger hadn't sunk in yet. Dillon knew. He knew some of these men wouldn't be coming back the same way they were leaving.

He took one backward glance at his wife and child before giving the buckskin a nudge with his spurs. For the first time since he was a boy he had a family to call his own - something to live for, something to die for.

**GS GS GS GS**

The air was hot, heavy and ominously still. The heat was taking a toll on them, already their horses were throwing lather and sucking in air. For that matter, so were the riders. Untested, yet eager for action, the posse was comprised mainly of Dodge City merchants, local farmers who'd happened to be in town that day, and a few schoolboy volunteers for good measure. They numbered, including Festus, Newly, Nathan Burke and Sinclair just under twenty.

Festus had offered no apologies for the raw recruits he'd delivered to Matt for deputizing, and Dillon, had been around enough years to be satisfied with whatever he got. This lot was worse than some, but better than most.

Moon Bar was fourteen miles south of Dodge, with a well worn road to lead them there. This was the easy part. The terrain further south of Moon Bar was vast and treacherous. There, the prairie gave way to rugged outcroppings of red rock granite and shale, and the only trail was that which you made along the way.

About a mile from Moon Bar he pulled the buckskin to a stop and held up his right arm. The men behind him followed suite. He spoke in a commanding voice, "Hold it right here! Festus, Sinclair, and I are going to ride on in. You men stay here with Newly until you get the signal."

He had debated with Festus and Newly about what to do with Susan's ranch hand Homer Sinclair, in the end he'd decided it was best to keep him in sight. As Festus had put it, "A snake in the grass ain't agonna strike at ya if you're a'standing on 'is head."

Moon Bar had an unnatural quiet as they rode through the gate. Only Susan's horse and a pair of mules occupied the corral. A once thriving flock of chickens had been diminished to a half dozen and the hog pen was empty. At the far side of the house Cookie Hays was hanging laundry on the line, at his feet a mangy mutt was doing his best to trip the old codger up. As the riders neared, Hays voiced his annoyance at the dust they caused, when he saw the glint of Dillon's badge in the sunlight he changed his tune, His voice was raspy, "Oh, it's you Marshal, How's Miss Susan?"

"She's dead Cookie." He spoke the harsh words with a measure of compassion for he knew a long history linked the hired hand and the dead woman.

Cookie's grey beard dropped until his chin rested against his chest, when he looked up again, Dillon could see moisture rimming his rheumy eyes. The shirt he was hanging slipped to the ground but he made no effort to pick it up. He shook head back and forth, "I told her," he growled hoarsely, "I said, them Sharlows was nothing but trouble."

"Shut up Cookie." Sinclair interjected heatedly from atop his horse. "Shut up old man, you don't know what the hell you're talking about. He just a crazy old man Marshal, don't listen to him."

Dillon ignored Sinclair. He swung a leg over the saddle to the ground, and then walked to Cookie, "You got coffee on the stove?" he asked.

"… reckon I do."

Matt turned to look at Festus and ordered, "Keep an eye on Sinclair, Cookie and I are going to have a little talk."

Cookie Hays had worked for Moon Bar for more than thirty years. A fall from a horse early on had ended his days as a cowboy and in the years since he'd been relegated to the kitchen and laundry. He was past sixty, grizzled and crippled by arthritis.

Numb with shock, Hays lead the way, his back to Dillon, "She's dead." he mumbled in his gravelly voice, as if in effort to drive home the truth, "Miss Susan's dead, I told her, no good would come from it. Told her them Sharlows was nothing but trouble. She wouldn't listen to me. Said she knew what she was doing."

They entered the kitchen, which seemed dark after the bright sun of mid- afternoon. Hays headed to the cook stove.

"Did you see Sharlow yesterday?" Matt asked.

Cookie shook his head and turned back to Dillon with an old enamel coffee pot in hand. "Set down Marshal. I'll give you that coffee you was after." Cookie poured the mucky brew in two chipped blue willow teacups. From the sideboard he took a half empty bottle of Gold Barrel Whiskey from the shelf. He held it up for Matt's direction.

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself." And Cookie Hayes all but emptied the bottle in his cup. He moved slowly to the table, and eased his frame onto a chair. He took a drink and then sat staring into the cup. Dillon didn't say a word, allowing the old man a chance gather his wits.

Outside the screen door, Susan's dog was raising a ruckus. "Damn mutt, I oughta put a bullet through his head." Cookie pushed himself back to his feet, the arthritis apparent in his stiff movements. He went to the door and let the dog inside. He poured some water in a china bowl, set it on the floor and the dog lapped it up. Cookie returned to his chair and the dog followed plopping down on the floor beside the old man's feet. "He don't like to be left by hisself. I reckon he's lonesome for Miss Susie too."

Finally Matt said, "Tell me about Sharlow."

"They first come to Moon Bar looking fer a place to hideout. Miss Susan agreed to let 'em stay here. I reckon she figured she was getting back at you some. You always stuck in her gullet like a chicken bone in a coyote's throat. Later, they started in rustlin' and moved on out to the south range, Sharlow brung in his own men to work out of the ranch. Told Miss Susan to let go most of her hands, 'cept me 'n Homer. Left his boy Bates here to run things …" he took a long drink from the chipped cup, and then backhanded his mouth, "The far south range - room enough for 10,000 head in the valley - canyon walls all around - only one way in - leastways running a herd that is. No one bothered 'em there - nor suspected, not even you Marshal, and it was a goin' on right under your nose so to speak. Sharlow paid Miss Susan to begin with, he paid her right well, and she needed the money, though that ain't all the reason she done it."

"What about Homer Sinclair, was he in on it?"

Cookie wiped his nose on the grimy apron he wore, and then dabbed at his eyes, "Homer knew what was goin' on same as me, but I don't reckon he was in cohoots or nothing like that with Sharlow." The old man took a drink, and then snorted a wry laugh, "Sinclair ain't got that much gumption."

"Could he lead us to the hideout?"

"I reckon he could, he's the one that totes supplies out there."

Dillon set down the cup, he hadn't taken a drink, he rose to his feet. "Thanks for the information Cookie." He moved toward the door.

"Marshal."

Dillon stopped and turned back to look at the old man, "What is it?"

"She weren't bad. Don't go blamin' Miss Susie - it just ain't no good when a woman goes lovin' after a man she can't have. It eats away at her - ends up … it ends up destroying her."

Dillon's face tightened in a wince, his words echoed bitterness, "She knew right from wrong, Cookie." He squared his hat and headed back outside. He squinted in the strong sunlight looking in the direction of the graveyard. He figured he'd learned what he needed to know, no reason to hike up the hill to see Susan's spilled blood.

He walked with a menacing stride as he moved toward Homer Sinclair. When he stood beside his horse he asked, "Those supplies you were picking up in town yesterday, were they for Sharlow's men?"

"Maybe … maybe not." Sinclair replied smugly.

Dillon's face turned to cold stone, he reached up and jerked Sinclair from his horse, Homer's knees buckled under him, but Dillon held him upright, his voice was low and hard, "We're going to take those supplies in to Sharlow's hideout, Sinclair."

Homer's voice quaked, "Won't work, Dillon. They got sharp shooters watching from the hilltops, they'll kill us sure."

"You better make it work - otherwise, the way I see it, you'll be the first to go."

**GS GS GS GS**

Not much was known about Kingston Sharlow, save that he had grown up a Southern farm boy, he'd fought for the Confederacy during the War between the States. When the war ended he returned to his Georgia home to find it burned to the ground, his family gone and his fields turned to wasteland. Disillusioned, he headed west and turned to a life outside the law. From a small time thief, through cunning and daring, he'd become a force. He was known to have dozens of men working for him and under his direction they rustled cattle, stole horses, robbed stage coaches and preyed on unsuspecting freight caravans. They plied their trade throughout Colorado and south to the territory known as New Mexico. Always steering clear of the law, they were legendary; a band of ruthless, cold blooded killers.

**GS GS GS GS**

The vast landscape was blanketed with rugged hills and green valleys. The Dodge City posse rode until nightfall and made good time despite the fact they traveled with the supply wagon. Two sturdy mules pulled the ten foot long conveyance. The canvas cover was in place and both ends were secured tightly to shield the fact the wagon was nearly empty. They made camp along the rocky banks of a muddy stream bed with the jagged hills crowding them close in the narrows. Dillon took first watch, and pondered the day as he listened for any harbinger of trouble. He kept a close eye on Sinclair, whose bed roll was but a short distance from Dillon's feet. They'd formed a shaky alliance at best. If Sinclair was being straight with him, they'd hit the canyon region leading to Sharlow's hideout sometime before sundown tomorrow. He had spent the better part of the afternoon riding beside Homer, and it hadn't taken long before Sinclair's tongue loosened up a bit. "Sharlow's got between twenty- five and forty men in there, always coming and going - some rustlin', some thievin,' robbing banks, stage coaches, anything they can steal from, they'll take. Sharlow sits there on the mountain, like a man running a puppet show, pulling all the strings. He's got enough ammunition to take on the U.S. Cavalry if need be. Like I told you, he's got guns standing lookout, you won't see 'em, but they're there, aimed at your heart, ain't no way you can get these men through there alive."

Dillon had set his jaw at an odd angle and nodded his head, "There's always a way Sinclair, if you're willing to take a risk."

"Might be I ain't interested in taking no risk - I got no shame admitting to being a coward. I don't wanna die. Don't you ever get scared Dillon?"

Fear had never been a part of Matt Dillon's thinking, but now the image of Matilda standing next to Miss Tuttwell came to his mind and for a moment he acknowledged the fact that he didn't want to die either. However, he relied on bravado in the hopes his words could bolster both Sinclair's courage and his own. "Sharlow and men like him, have to be stopped. I'm willing to face what comes for the good that might come after."

Homer had chuckled then, as if the lawman had just told him a joke, "You're a better man than I am Dillon, or maybe you just ain't as smart."


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

At midnight Festus and Burke took over guard duty and Matt motioned Newly to the supply wagon. "I'm going to need your help here." He said as he held a lantern to light the interior.

The wagon held only a minimum of the supplies Sinclair would usually carry up to Sharlow's hideout. Aside from beans and salt pork for the trail, Dillon had been insistent on the other items he wanted to make the trip. If the posse thought it odd, they had kept their thoughts to themselves. There was a barrel of black gunpowder, a crate of Gold Barrel whiskey bottles, a keg of nails, and a good quantity of manila jute rope.

The gunsmith looked over the goods and then up to Dillon's face, "Looks like we're going to be making some sort of grenades."

Dillon nodded and hung the lantern on a hook attached to a canvas brace. "Let's get started." He pulled a bottle of whiskey from the crate, popped the cork and emptied the contents on the ground as Newly pried off the lid from the barrel of gunpowder. They filled the bottles with nails and explosive and used the manila jute for fuse. While they worked Dillon told Newly of his plan.

**GS GS GS GS **

As he finished the last bottle and set it carefully back in the crate, Newly asked, "You ever use a grenade before?"

"Once. It was at Vicksburg … "

"How'd it work?"

He shook his head, "We lost a half dozen men when the grenades exploded in their hands."

**GS GS GS GS**

They were off and riding again at sunup. Even at that early time of day the temperatures were warm. The trail they made was cut by arroyos and dry creek beds, which carried the danger of flash floods. With the heavy air and menacing skies that threat grew. Moreover, if the rains did come, their makeshift grenades would be rendered impotent.

They traveled on an upward swing. The sun was at it's highest point in the sky when Sinclair pulled his horse to a stop, Dillon reined in and the posse gathered round. "Something wrong Sinclair?"

"You can see the peak of Sharlow's mountain from here." He pointed some miles in the distance to a far rocky range.

"Which way do we head?"

"You're bound and determined to go through with this Dillon?"

"I am."

Sinclair gave a disgusted grunt and then hacked a wad of chew. It just missed Hagen's boot. "If we follow this here creek bed round the base of the hillside, there's good cover, and we won't stir up no dust."

Matt nodded, "alright."

Sinclair asked the question then that everyone else was wondering about, "What's your plan Dillon?" All eyes turned to the lawman.

Matt pulled his canteen free and took a long drink, wiping his mouth dry on his sleeve. "We'll be splitting up tonight. Festus and I are going to ride along in the supply wagon, with Sinclair driving. Newly will take the rest of you men up the back side of the mountain. Hopefully we'll reach the hideout at the same time."

Sinclair's voice had a whiny quality, "Won't work, it's suicide to go up against Sharlow's guns."

"You hush up, no one asked your opinion." Festus hissed.

Dillon addressed the rest of the posse, "Alright men, if any of you haven't the stomach to go on, you're free to head back to Dodge. No one will think the less of you. Those of you who stay should know there's a chance you won't get out of this alive."

A clerk from the general store opted to head back to Dodge as well as Bert Walton a local farmer and Harvey Frank the town tinsmith. The rest of the posse held their ground and Sinclair had no choice in the matter.

Matt turned to young Willie Roniger, he was seventeen and eager to prove himself. "Maybe you'd better head back home son." he said, clapping a hand on the young man's shoulder.

The boy shook his head. "I'm a man Marshal, and I can do a man's jobs. Just you watch."

As a friend of the Roniger family, Matt had seen the boy grow up. He had held him in his arms as a newborn, watched him take his first steps, ride his first pony and shoot his first gun. He felt a strong pang of emotion at the threat of anything happening to him, and yet he also knew young men have a need to prove themselves. He took a breath, and said, "Alright."

They traveled the creek bed as Sinclair had suggested until early dusk. Coming to a cut in the ridge, and there they parted ways.

Newly and his men traveled by horseback through a maze of canyons and hidden ravines through a criss-cross of stone gullies. They left their horses behind when the terrain turned too rugged for the animals to navigate.

"Move slow, keep quiet and stay in the moon's shadows." Newly ordered.

They began the climb, single file, Newly leading the way, Nathan Burke and young Willie close behind. A barred owl noted their passing. In the distance a coyote howled, another answered and an echoing chorus followed. The nervous shake of a rattlesnake warned of danger, but still they pressed upward. They reached the summit sometime around midnight and worked their way down to an inner ridge and here they pressed ahead keeping in the dark blue moonlit shadows of thin juniper and sparse tamarack until finally they came to a stony ledge. They belly crawled to the rim. Below, campfire lights glowed and the valley reverberated with the sound of Sharlow's men loud and raucous after a day of some form of plunder. At a distance, but still visible in the full moonlight, against the rock walls of the canyon there was built a large cabin. Light glowed from the shoulder high portholes that served as windows. From this distance it looked like an impenetrable fortress. Newly glanced back to the dozen men under his command. They were each armed with a crude handmade grenade, which none of them were trained to use, a rifle, and some of them had six shooters. Not one of them other than Nathan Burke had ever been forced to kill a man. Newly was beginning to think Sinclair might be right in his assessment of Matt Dillon's plan.

Dillon, Hagen and Sinclair camped until two AM, they left their mounts and turned in the direction of Sinclair's hideout with Dillon and Hagen sitting in the back of the wagon. They had three shotguns, their colt revolvers and enough ammunition to hold their position until help came - as long as help didn't wait too long.

**GS GS GS GS**

They traveled across the rugged canyon floor, through narrows hardly wide enough for the wagon to fit through, before popping into a beautiful pristine valley at sunrise. The grass was lush and green nestled between the canyon walls. Cattle were grazing, sporting new brands and fattening up to be sold for a tidy profit.

Two of Sharlow's men were minding the herd. They called out to Sinclair when they saw him approach. "Wondered if you were comin' Homer."

Sinclair was trembling in his boots, and Dillon had to prod him to answer.

"Knew you were getting low on supplies." He replied with a shaky voice.

His partner was riding along side the other rustler, "You totin' whiskey in there?"

Matt jabbed Sinclair's back again and whispered, "Stop the wagon and tell them to come on over and find out."

"Come on over and see for yourself." Homer offered, pulling back the reins and applying the break.

The two outlaws trotted to the wagon, slipped off their horses and pulled back the canvas to peer into the dark wagon, expecting to see the supplies but getting the cold barrel of a rifle in their faces instead. "Tie those ponies to this here rig." Festus ordered. "Then climb on in here." In no time at all the men were bound and gagged and forced to lie face down on the wagon floor.

"Alright Sinclair, drive on in."

They were still miles from the hideout, but had anyone been watching from lookout, they would suspect nothing more than the drover outlaws had opted for a wagon ride back to the hideout enjoying first crack at the whiskey inside.

They were a hundred yards from the compound, when they were approached again. "Sinclair, we've been waiting for you - expected you days ago. Take the wagon around to the shed, we'll help you unload."

News of the supply wagon's arrival caused more outlaws to appear from inside the cabin. From a slit he'd cut in the canvas, Matt counted four men at the stable door, two at the storage shed, and another three or four up by the cabin. He hoped Newly was nearby with the Dodge men because they were about to run out of time.

To Homer the odds didn't look good and he had no wish to be on the losing side. It was then that he panicked. Sinclair stood up, arms waving, "Matt Dillon's in the wagon and he's got a posse out there!", he shouted, jumping from the wagon and falling in an awkward heap, his leg crumpling at an unnatural angle. He howled and cried, "My leg - broke my leg. Somebody help me - help me."

Festus and Matt readied their firearms. Through the canvas tear, Dillon caught the glint of Newly's badge from a rocky ridge, fifty feet up. The posse was up there and Dillon breathed a quick sigh of relief. Then hell broke loose. Two grenades flew down from the hillside, They exploded sending shrapnel flying in every direction. One hit near the main door of the hideout, and the other in front of the stable. Two of Sharlow's men were down, several others were injured.

The outlaws grabbed their rifles running for cover and were met by a barrage of bullets from the Dodge men. The air was filled with gun smoke and the caustic odor bit at their nostrils and burned their eyes. Dillon and Hagen clambered from the wagon, firearms in hand. The back of the wagon provided some cover and both Matt and Festus were able to keep the outlaws busy allowing the Dodge men time to advance. "Cover me." Matt told Festus as he leapt into the open and zig-zagged a path in the direction of the rain barrel beside the cabin door, Hagen raised his rifle and peppered the area in front of the barn and shed. Two more grenades exploded and shrapnel flew around Dillon. From the ground at the front of the wagon, Sinclair pulled loose his revolver, and took aim with a clear shot at Dillon. His bullet burned through Matt's shoulder, and the lawman's rifle went flying. He faltered for a moment, spun to the ground and then rolled to safety behind the barrel. Festus stepped out from the wagon's cover and fired a deadly shot at Sinclair, it was a careless move that earned him a crease on his upper arm. Hagen considered it worth the risk.

In the distance the heavy skies rumbled with thunder and lightening flashes blinked across the far horizon. The rain would be upon them, soon. Under scant cover the Dodge men were working their way down the hillside. amid a shower of gunfire. One of their grenades had landed on the roof of the stable and it was on fire.

From behind the rain barrel, Dillon scanned the landscape around them, he noticed a cloud of dust as some of Sharlow's gunmen hightailed it out of the valley. He couldn't gage how many men were still in the cabin, but he figured four or five were in the shed judging from the hailstorm of lead coming from the building. The Dodge men were moving in despite the gunfire, and Matt suspected they would suffer some loses. He'd seen several fall, including young Willie Roniger.

Gunfire slowed from the cabin, Matt took it as a sign the outlaws were ready to give up, "Come out with your hands up, we've got you surrounded!" The request was met by another round of gunfire, shots ricocheted off the wagon, others ripped though the canvas killing one of the outlaws they had tied up in there. A mule was hit and dropped in his traces.

Newly and Jimmy Taylor, the blacksmith had worked their way to Hagen's side. They both had the whiskey bottle grenades stuck in their waistbands. "We got to get one of them to Matthew." Festus said.

"I know it." Newly replied, "Keep 'em busy for me."

"I'm getting good practice at it today." Festus answered.

Newly crept near the front of the wagon, and around the downed mule, and then headed for the rain barrel at a dead run. Fast shots rang out from both sides and another grenade exploded before Newly made it to Dillon's side. "You alright Marshal?" he questioned noting the growing circle of blood on the lawman's shoulder.

Matt grimaced and it could have been from pain or relief in seeing his deputy, "Bullet went right through, I'm fine. Mighty glad to see you and your little friend there. If I can kick the door open, you think you can toss the grenade in?"

O'Brien nodded.

Dillon grimaced again and said under his breath, "Hope it's one of those doors you can kick in."

There were two other Dodge men beside Festus and Jimmy now, keeping the outlaws busy. Newly produced a match from his pocket, struck it and applied it to the fuse. His eyes gave the signal, Dillon jumped up, ignoring the pain, he summoned every ounce of strength he had left and heaved a mighty kick at the center of the door. It splintered and gave way, and Newly threw the grenade inside.

From within the cabin, shots rang out in their direction, Matt pulled Newly out of the line of fire, pushing him to the ground, as the bomb exploded.


	36. Chapter 36

**Thirty-six**

They'd lost four men, among them young Willie Roniger. Three were badly injured, Newly was tending to them. Despite the rain, smoke still curled from the burned out stable and a portion of the cabin roof.

Piled in a haphazard fashion by the wagon, along side the dead mule were the six members of Sharlow's gang killed in the shootout. Somewhere in that pile was Homer Sinclair as well. Several Dodge men were busy digging graves, for they had no plan to bring the dead outlaws back to town with them. The remaining outlaws, most suffering from some form of injury, were bound and pleading for either help or to be put out of their misery. Nathan Burke stood guard, his face was hard and grim and it took all that was in him not to put a bullet through the head of each one of them.

Inside what was left of the cabin, Matt and Festus kicked their way through the debris, sifting through evidence and gathering anything that might help to convict the remaining members of the outlaw band to a long, long prison term. There was nothing to be found amidst the destruction to confirm Kingston Sharlow had been there and for the moment not one of the remaining outlaws was willing to confess they were part of the Sharlow gang.

Dillon faltered in step and then sat down abruptly on a lopsided three legged stool. "You ought have Newly take a look at that there shoulder Matthew." Festus advised.

"I'm alright."

"You're a'bleedin' like a stuck pig."

"I'm alright, I said."

"Pshaw, my left hind foot you're alright ..."

Matt got up from the chair and walked on unsteady legs to the door, there he stood looking out at the carnage his actions had wrought. He watched as two Dodge men carefully lifted the lifeless body of young Willie, placing him gently in the wagon.

Festus saw what he was looking at and his heart went out to Dillon, "Shoot Matthew, I know how you feeled about Willie, but you gived him the chance to head on back to Dodge, he didn't wanna go."

"I should've made him."

"Aw fiddle, you couldn' a done that. He wanted to be here, he wanted to fight along side you, it was his choice as a man."

His words came out angry, "As a man? He was a boy, just a boy. How am I going to tell Bessie and Will …" He took a deep painful breath. A storm of emotion flooded his usually stoic features. He leaned against the doorway and his blood stained the wood. "He was Kitty's godson, she loved that boy."

**GS GS GS GS**

It was another warm night. Her bedclothes stuck to her body. Her damp hair clung to her neck. In the distance thunder rumbled and the thought of cooling rains was almost enough to bring comfort. But the thunder had been rumbling for days now with no result. She got up from bed and opened the connecting door to Matilda's room. The child was sleeping, her face almost angelic in repose. Sydney adjusted the cotton sheet providing cover and then returned to her room. Her room had been his room. She'd decided it might be better to switch with the Marshal so that she'd have the connecting door to Matilda's room. Although at the moment she wished for her old quarters and its better cross ventilation. No doubt, once he got back, he'd find a reason to grumble even though he'd made out the better in the bargain.

He'd been gone for eleven days now. The only information they'd had was when three of the posse returned earlier in the week with word of Dillon's plan. There had been subsequent speculation and now everyday eyes looked to the south of town hoping for some sign that the Dodge men were returning. She tried her best to keep Matilda busy during the day so that the little girl wouldn't have time to fret about her father's fate. Even old Dr. Adams had offered to take Matilda on a call to her friend Annie's house, where the family was expecting another baby. The time had provided both the old man and the child a chance to get to know each other. Later, Dr. Adams had confessed to Sydney how pleased he was to see so much of her mother in the child's personality.

"She's strong willed." Sydney had concurred.

"She'll need all the strength she can muster as Matt Dillon's daughter."

Sydney had nodded and Doc had reached out and patted her hand, "So will you, my dear."

She wondered now, in the middle of this interminable night if it was just the empty philosophy of an old man or if Adams was preparing her for something, if he knew more than he was letting on.

A gust of wind sent her curtains dancing, and she moved closer to enjoy the breeze. She looked out the window at Front Street below, for as far as she could see, the street was dead quiet. The thunder was growing louder, lighting flashed across the sky and the wind began to blow in earnest. The gaslights swayed as the skies finally let loose the rain. It pelted the hard packed street and slammed against the windows like pebbles tossed on ice. Despite the perspiration which drenched her body, she shivered as she thought about the posse and hoped they'd managed to find shelter, where ever they were.

From outside her room she heard Ma's hurried foot steps coming down the hall, she sounded like a street crier as she called out, "Shut the windows, shut the windows - don't let that rain get in on my nice wood floors. Shut the windows."

Sydney slipped on her housecoat and then did as Mrs. Smalley had requested. She followed suite in Matilda's room before coming out in the hall to help Ma make the rounds of the rest of the boarding house. Together the two ladies saw to it that all windows and doors were secured against the weather. Then Sydney had helped Ma slop up the floor where the rain had come in the parlor window. The work completed, they paused together on the front porch, sheltered from the wind and rain.

"Feels like it's cooling off right nicely." Ma commented. "Tomorrow should be a pleasant day for a change."

"Yes." Sydney had agreed and then before she had a chance to say more, Ma's hand caught at her arm and held tight.

"Oh my dear Lord!" the old woman exclaimed. "Look over there by Doc's office, by the Marshal's office too! They're back."

Without a word, Sydney pulled free from Ma's grasp to run out in the rain, and down the muddy street.

**GS GS GS GS**

They'd been on the muddy trail back to Dodge for over a week. With the wagon, the going was painfully slow, for the heavy rains caused the dry creek beds to flood. By the time they got back to Dodge, those who'd been wounded were feverish; those who'd suffered no wound of the flesh were physically and mentally exhausted.

The supply wagon, pulled by the remaining mule and Willie Roniger's horse had been home to both the dead and the wounded and it reeked with the smell of rotting flesh. Driving the wagon, Nathan Burke pulled up in front of the General store, and several men began the arduous task of unloading the injured, "Get them on up to Doc's." Matt ordered. "Newly you better go with them, Doc's gonna need you. Burke, when that's done, take the wagon over to Percy Crump's."

To the rest of the posse, Dillon directed, "Alright men, let's fill the jail cells." Festus took over, grabbing handcuffs and keys and directing the traffic as the four cells were filled with nine remaining outlaws. Matt nodded his thanks to the posse, "You can head on home boys, when you're finished." Home, for the moment the word held no meaning to Matt Dillon and his only thought of comfort was to collapse on the unforgiving cot in his office. He was sick. His shoulder infected and like an old hound dog he wanted only to curl up in some corner far away from everyone and lick at his wounds. That wasn't going to happen at least not for some time. There were matters to attend to, the badge pinned to his chest said so.

**GS GS GS GS**

Bessie Roniger had been staying at the Dodge House the last several days, leaving her sizable brood in the care of her older children and husband Will. When he had objected, she'd said simply, "Something's wrong, I feel it. I need to be there when my boy comes home." She too, had been minding the window that night, the way mothers do when one of their own is not accounted for. Searching the dark, peering into the shadows, seeing what wasn't there in the hope that it would materialize just by the mere act of wanting. Her heart hurt, her ample bosom pained and her arms felt useless without a child to hold. "Willie, my Willie boy." She breathed. And then in a flash of lighting she saw the wagon and riders appear on the far end of the street. She grabbed her shawl, pulling it up over her head and rushed down the stairs, awakening Howie, the clerk, who sat at the front desk. "Mrs. Roniger," he called, "You can't go out like that, you'll catch your death." She didn't listen, but rushed out the door and began running, she slipped on the slick boardwalk and fell to her knees and then pulled herself up and began running again.

There were tears and rain on her face and her chest ached from the exertion but she could not stop until she was with her child again. Dillon saw her coming and moved to step in her way, reaching out to her he pulled her into his arms before she reached the wagon.

"Let me go, I need to be with Willie."

"No."

"I need to be with my boy."

"No."

Intuition, denial and truth met in hard reality, "No! No … oh my God .. NO, not my boy … not my Willie boy … no …" She slipped from his hold falling to her knees again, she folded her arms tight across her breasts, rocking her body back and forth, sobbing a requiem lullaby, "my Willie boy, my Willie boy …" Matt Dillon stood helpless to her sorrow.

In the shadows of the jailhouse porch where she'd been standing and watching, Sydney stepped forward and knelt in the mud beside Bessie. "Mrs. Roniger." She said, placing an arm around her shoulder, "Bessie … come on now … let's go on over to the Boarding House."

"My Willie …"

Sydney reached her hand to cradle Bessie's wet cheek. "He's fine Bessie, isn't he? He's in the arms of the Lord now, safe and warm. You needn't worry any longer. Come now."

Matt helped pull Bessie to her feet again and watched as Sydney lead her down the street to Ma's.


	37. Chapter 37

**Thirty-seven**

Matilda rolled over in bed, her dreams mixed with the morning sounds she was familiar with at the boarding house; the opening and shutting of doors the rat-a-tat of footsteps walking down the hall, hushed voices, muted words. She squinted open her eyes to sunshine flooding through her window and she smiled. It was going to be a nice day.

It took a few more moments of stretching and dozing before she was well and ready to get up. It seemed a little late to her, for she figured someone would have been urging her out of bed long before now. Finally she sat up, threw her feet over the side of the bed and hit the floor. There was a clock on her dresser and she glanced at it, the little hand was on the nine. She knew then something was certainly amiss. She crept on tippy-toe to the connecting door, opened it as quietly as she could to find Miss Tuttwell asleep on top of her covers. She was still in her housecoat and the bottom portion of her night gown was caked with dried mud.

She backed out quickly, and got dressed and hurried down the back stairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Heitzer and Ma were at the table with a lady who appeared vaguely familiar to Matilda. This lady was crying and her tears cut to Matilda's heart. She remembered then where she'd seen her before. It was at church and the woman, who had been surrounded by children, none of whom Matilda knew, had introduced herself as Mrs. Roniger. She'd had a wonderful warm smile that day and her voice was filled with tenderness, "Your mother was one of my oldest and dearest friends." She'd said. Matilda had smiled and nodded.

"Who are all these kids?" Matilda had wanted to know, for she was reminded of New Orleans and the Sisters of Charity, "Do you run an orphanage?"

"These are my children, they don't go to school in town, but sometime maybe you'd like to come out to our place and play with them."

"Okay. Well nice to meet you." Matilda had replied and then ran off to join Herbie and Grandma Heitzer who were already in the church yard.

By nature, Matilda wasn't overly intuitive, but on this morning, something urged her forward, "Hi Mrs. Roniger", she said, "Do you remember me? I'm Kitty Russell's little girl. We met going out of church one day."

Ma had interrupted, "Go away Matilda, Mrs. Roniger doesn't need you bothering her right now."

But Mrs. Roniger looked up from her tears and pulled Matilda to her lap, "Oh, you're wrong, Ma, this is just what I need, a dear precious child to hold on to."

So, for a while Matilda was trapped in Mrs. Roniger's hold, until a tall kind looking man with a sad face, came in the kitchen. "Come along Mother, it's time to take Willie home, the buckboard's out front."

Mrs. Roniger gave Matilda a final squeeze and kissed the top of her head, before allowing her to wiggle to the floor. Ma and Grandma Heitzer walked out with Mr. and Mrs. Roniger and Matilda was left alone in the kitchen.

She was hungry so she grabbed a couple muffins from a basket on the table, one she stuck in her pocket and the other in her mouth. She walked through the house to the front parlor window, there she saw Mr. Roniger helping Mrs. Roniger into the short wagon. A long wooden box was in the back, partially hanging off the end. She understood what the box meant. That's where Willie was. As she watched she saw Matt Dillon striding purposefully down the street to the Ronigers. Removing his hat, he reached out a hand to Mr. Roniger and said something to Mrs. Roniger. There was a lot of shaking of heads and sad, sad faces and then the Ronigers left. Her father stood in the middle of the street watching them go. He looked tired and he looked thin and his face was an odd two-tone. The upper half tanned and the lower half white. He had on a clean shirt, but his trousers looked very dirty. His big Stetson hat was stained with sweat and grime. Matilda smiled though, because he was back and he wasn't in a long wood box. That was a good thing.

She walked out on to the porch and then skipped down the front steps, "Hi." She called to him, but he didn't seem to hear her, he just kept staring down the street. She tried again a little louder, "I said, HI!"

Still he didn't acknowledge her presence. She ran out in the street and tugged his arm and tried one more time. He looked down, a little startled to see her, for with everything that had gone on, he'd almost forgotten about Matilda.

"Welcome back Matt Dillon, we missed you."

"Thanks." he said, "It's good to be back."

"You don't look so good, and how come your face in brown and white:"

He offered a vague smile, "I had a beard, I shaved it off."

"Oh … the sun couldn't get through your hairy face. Did you look like Festus?"

He nodded, "where's … " He was at a loss of words how to refer to Sydney Elvira, she was his wife, she was Matilda's step-mother, but despite those facts the only title that seemed appropriate was, "Miss Tuttwell?"

"She's sleeping. She was on top of her covers and her nightie was muddy. Should I wake her up?"

"No, let's let her sleep, she had a rough night. You go on back in the house now, I have business to attend to."

"But, Ma still has breakfast out, you didn't have breakfast yet did you?"

"Do as I said." He turned to walk back toward the office.

"Wait." Matilda called and she ran after him. He stopped with a frown on his face, ready to give her what for, but she reached in her pocket and pulled out the muffin she'd swiped from Ma's breakfast table. "Here." she offered. "you'll get a belly ache If you don't eat something."

The sun shining in the window woke Sydney up as well. She'd only had a few hours of sleep at best. Most of her night had been spent sitting up with Mrs. Roniger. When finally that lady had fallen into an exhausted sleep on Ma's front parlor divan, Sydney under Ma's prodding had taken herself off to bed. Too tired to change her gown or wash up she'd fallen fast asleep atop her bed covers. It was going on ten according to her timepiece. She hadn't slept this late since she couldn't remember when. It was one of her staunch life rules to arise no later than 5:30. Now, she wasted no time lounging in bed, nor did she allow herself the luxury of debating what she had on her mind to do. She arose, performed her morning ablutions, dressed in a dark gabardine gown, pulled her hair taunt and proceeded downstairs at a brisk pace.

Ma was in the kitchen cleaning up the last of the breakfast plates and working on a mutton stew for supper. "I thought you might sleep a spell longer." She said. "Set on down and I'll get you a cup of coffee, would you like me to fry you some eggs and side meat?"

"No thank you Mrs. Smalley, just the coffee and a piece of plain bread will do."

"Tsk tsk, you got to eat more than that, a married lady should fill out some. A man don't like to grab hold of just skin and bones. I've got some strawberry marmalade I've been saving, guess this is as good a day as any to open it up."

Sydney chose to ignore Mrs. Smalley's comment, "How's Mrs. Roniger?"

"Someone fetched Will Roniger and he was here about an hour ago. He took Bess and young Willie home. I reckon they'll be having a funeral in the next day or so."

"How was she?"

"Better I think, some of the shock wore off, lucky she has all those children to bring her comfort and keep her going."

"Have you seen Matilda or Mr. Dillon this morning?"

"Matilda is off playing with Herbie Heitzer. I haven't seen more than a glimpse of the Marshal, he was here to see the Ronigers off and then he headed back to his office. Now, if you ask me, you ought to take that new husband of yours right off to bed."

"Mrs. Smalley!"

Ma rolled her eyes, "That's not what I meant, he's sick, and wore out, he needs about a week's worth of bed rest and a little tending to."

"He's a grown man, I'm sure he can tend to his own needs."

"I'm not one to butt in other folk's business, but it's a wife's duty to look out for her man."

"Not to shock you, but certainly you must realize that this is not a normal marriage, and my only duty is the welfare of Matilda. The Marshal can do as he sees fit, it is of no consequence to me."

"Well, it surely will be if he frets himself to an early grave."

"Frets? I thought you said he was sick and exhausted."

"Young Willie … Bess and Will … they're more than just folk to Matt Dillon, to Miss Kitty … you ought to get the Marshal to talk about it some, might make this easier for him to stomach."

"As I said Mrs. Smalley, I'm sure he can tend to his own needs, but I do have matters to discuss with him, I believe it is imperative to outline the full conditions of our marital contract."

Ma turned around from the stove with a large wooden spoon, dripping in hand, to look at Sydney, "Don't mind sayin' it to your face Sydney Tuttwell, you're a strange bird, for a fact, you are a strange bird."


	38. Chapter 38

**Thirty-eight**

**short**

Sydney placed a bonnet on her head, and pushed through a monstrous jet black hat pin to hold it in place. No slave to fashion she, Sydney Tuttwell preferred to present a bare head to the world. But, when pitted against Matt Dillon's size she felt the added height of the headpiece would give her some advantage. It was an odd bonnet that sat atop her head like an upside down butter crock. It featured a trim of horse hair braid adorned by a single temperamental plume of some nondescript color. It did nothing to enhance her attractiveness as had Kitty Russell's bonnets, and this she considered a benefit as well. Under the circumstances, she had no desire to arouse Mr. Dillon's baser instincts.

The temperatures had turned hot again and the air was muggy. Under such conditions, the brick jailhouse took on the characteristics of a Dutch Oven. To quiet down his prisoners the Marshal had acquiesced to leaving the door open between the office and the jail cells. Now, for the first time in weeks, Matt Dillon was sitting at his desk with nothing pressing to do. He'd sent off a telegram to Pueblo, Colorado regarding the capture of certain members of the Sharlow gang. He'd received a reply that they were preparing extradition papers and sending several lawmen on the next train to escort the outlaws back to stand trial for cattle rustling and the numerous stage coach robberies they had committed in the State of Colorado.

The outlaws had been fed and tended to and now Matt hoped to sit back and close his eyes for a while. His shoulder was throbbing, he had a dull pain at the back of his neck, and despite the warm temperatures he had the chills. He'd decided once Festus and Burke took over for him later that afternoon, he'd make the trip up the stairs to Doc's office to have him take a look at his gunshot wound. He'd hesitated doing so before this, because he knew Adams had his hands full with the more seriously injured.

He'd just kicked his feet up atop his desk, When Sydney burst through the door. She had her nose up in the air and her small chest pushed forward, "Ah good, Mr. Dillon, I'm pleased to see you are resting, I'd been lead to believe you were on the brink of physical exhaustion." The plume on her hat bobbed up and down with every word she precisely enunciated. "Since that is not the case, I would like to discuss our marriage. I believe it is of the utmost importance to clarify the conditions of our newly formed arrangement so that you have a well-defined understanding of what I perceive as my 'wifely' duties. Really sir, it is quite simple, I will not share a marital bed with you, you have no conjugal rights, nor will I permit myself to fawned upon or groped in any manner shape or form. My hands are my own, you shall not attempt to hold them. Should I desire, I will continue to work in my chosen profession as an educator, any monies I earn, are my own and will be used in the manner I see fit. I will expect no financial assistance from you other than as it applies to Matilda's needs. You may address me as Sydney, for I feel it is important to Matilda's welfare that we present a united front. By the same token, I will address you as Matthew. I have had Attorney Roman Gundrum draw up a legal contract stating the aforementioned, and I would ask that you sign it as soon as possible."

From the jail cells, there erupted a chorus of hoots and raspy outlaw voices mimicking Sydney Tuttwell haughty speech.

Matt who had jumped to his feet halfway through his bride's diatribe now moved to the door separating the office from the jail cells. "Shut up in there." He ordered slamming the door shut.

Turning back to Sydney, he lowered his voice, hoping for some semblance of confidentiality, "Miss Tuttwell, I can assure you, your virginity is safe with me. I have absolutely no desire to share a bed with you or hold your hand. The only reason I married you was for Matilda, if anything were to happen to me, I just wanted to make sure she was looked after."

His frank words, and ready agreement to her demands, took the wind out of her sails a might. But, she remained resolute of voice, "Quite right, as long as we understand each other, there is no reason this should not prove a satisfactory arrangement for both parties. I will be on my way then. Good day to you … MATTHEW."

"See you later, SYDNEY."

She left the office as she'd entered with nose up and bosom out. He winced for the guffawing back in jail cells had erupted again.


	39. Chapter 39

**Thirty-five**

**Warning - Sexually suggestive**

Sydney's next stop was Attorney Roman Gundrum's Law Office. "I have made Mr. Dillon aware of the terms of the contract and he has agreed to sign the paperwork when you present it to him. I trust that will be soon, sir."

Even Roman Gundrum quaked a bit in Sydney Elvira's presence, "Yes, my secretary will be preparing the paperwork and I will deliver it to you and Mr. Dillon in three … yes, three days time."

She questioned him as she would a student whose homework was delinquent, "Why the delay? I requested this work nearly two weeks ago."

"Yes, yes Mrs. Dillon but, you must understand you're not my only client and my office has recently acquired," he puffed out his chest a might, "a typing machine, and because of the intricacies of the apparatus and the newness of the invention, it takes Miss Krankschaff longer to prepare the legal paperwork, but the result of the typewritten page lends a more, a much more professional appeal to the document."

She stretched her neck a bit, like a goose ready to give a honk, "Very, well then, three days, no later than that Mr. Gundrum. I do not condone tardiness in any form."

**GS GS GS **

Festus and Burke moseyed on over to the Marshal's office after supper. They brought with them dinner for the prisoners and a telegram from Hayes City. The telegram stated that Kingston Sharlow and his two sons, the recent escapees of Territory Prison, had been spotted in Monroe, Missouri and Federal Marshals in that area were pursuing them.

After Dillon read the telegram he relayed the information to his deputies, "Well that there's a relief Matthew, leastways we don't have to go worrying about Sharlow poking his nose around these parts anytime soon."

It was after 8:00 PM by the time Matt finally made his way up to Doc's office. Adams looked tired, but pleased with himself, "I was just about to round up my own posse to track you down."

"Well, here I am." He said, dismissing Doc's concern with his customary scowl, "The bullet went right through, but I think you need to clean it up some. How are the rest of the men?"

"Take your shirt off and sit down by the light so I can get a good look." Adams put on his spectacles and turned up the kerosene lamp. "Don't know why you feel the need to wait until after dark for me to do your doctoring. "

Ignoring the words of reproach, Matt somewhat painfully shrugged out of his shirt, "How are the rest of the men?" He asked again as he sat bare-chested in the chair by the lamp.

"Oh, they're doing fine, just fine, I sent two of 'em home already; family can nurse better than I can. I still have Frank and Henry here, got 'em in the same bed back there, to keep each other company."

He began his examination. "Well this is infected, but it's not too bad. Get up on the table, I'm gonna clean it out. It's gonna hurt. I'll give you some laudanum and you can stay here tonight."

"Just clean it out, Doc. I don't think I want to share a bed with Frank and Henry."

"Okay, don't say I didn't warn you." The old physician proceeded to doctor the wound, and Dillon could have sworn, just to make his point, he took no extra care in making sure it didn't hurt.

When the procedure was finished and the wound freshly dressed, Doc went to his apothecary cabinet and produced a packet of medicine and a small bottle of laudanum. "This is for the infection." he said referring to the packet, "and this", holding forward the small brown bottle, "is to help you sleep tonight. Take them both before you go to bed."

Now it was after nine and Matt figured he'd stop by the "Lady Gay" for a nightcap. One nightcap turned into two or three and with the lack of sleep and food he was feeling no pain by the time he walked back to the boarding house. The place was dark and quiet. He reckoned everyone, other than Taffy Boyd had retired for the night. Even though he felt more than fine, he figured he should follow doctor's orders, so he took the medicine, which he washed down with some cool buttermilk from Ma's icebox.

His head was beginning to spin a bit, and he realized he was a little drunk. He fought back the rare urge to sing a ditty and made a concerted effort to be as quiet as possible. Ma would scold him in the morning, as she had in the past, if he woke everyone up by being too noisy. He decided to remove his boots and gun belt before heading up. Ma always hated it when he let his boots thump on the bedroom floor. He tiptoed up the back stairs and down the hall to his room and turned the knob. It was locked, he fumbled in his pocket for his key chain, it took some effort on his part to do so quietly but finally he found the key, placed it in the lock, turned the knob, entered his room and fell into bed.

**GS GS GS**

Sidney Tuttwell had had an exhausting day as well, and she'd not managed to catch up on her sleep from the previous night. The day had brought it's share of emotional drama, what with the Ronigers and her confrontation with Matt Dillon.

She'd spent some time with Matilda that evening, discussing death and dying, for young Willie's passing had brought forth unanswered question in connection to her mother's death. They were strolling through Ma's flower garden, Matilda stopping every now and then to look at a bug or admire some new bud or flower. One plant however, had not weathered the recent storm and was dead. Matilda fingered the limp leaves and broken stem. "What do you suppose happens when we die Miss Tuttwell? Is there a heaven like the Sisters of Charity talked about? Would Miss Kitty be allowed in? What if she ended up in hell? I'd never get to see her again, unless I'm a bad girl too."

Sydney brushed a stray curl behind Matilda's ear. Her voice was softer than usual. "I believe, as long as we try our hardest to do our best, under the circumstances life presents us with, the Lord will look after us and bring us to His Kingdom when the time comes for us to leave this world."

Matilda stooped to right a June bug that had rolled over on it's back. When she stood up she declared, "I don't know if I want to go to heaven."

"Matilda! Why do you say that?"

Matilda smiled and reached for Sydney's hand, "If it's anything like the Sisters of Charity … I'd be bored silly."

Sydney returned the smile and squeezed the little hand in hers, "I'm sure St. Peter would find some chores to keep you from being too bored."

**GS GS GS**

With Matilda settled down for the night, Sydney was finally able to take herself off to bed. The room was hot and she wondered how Matt Dillon had put up with it, she was half tempted to return to her old room, but figured she'd best stay where she was, for Matilda was comforted knowing she was just on the other side of the connecting door.

Sydney donned a freshly starched cotton nightgown which modestly covered her from head to toe. It was hot, scratchy and most uncomfortable. She tried laying in bed like that for a while, but the longer she lay the more awake she became and the more tired she felt. "Good Lord," she thought, "I am so hot." Finally in an effort to bring some relief she stripped off the nightgown, replacing it with a fine lawn linen camisole and drawers of the same soft fabric. "Ahhh, " she thought, "this is so much better." Within moments she relaxed and fell asleep. There, a familiar dream started playing in her mind. She was at the Bodkin's home again and the orchestra was performing the waltz and she was dancing, but her partner was not Mr. Hinkle or any of the dozen partners she'd paired with that evening. Oh no, her partner was Matt Dillon, and she was not dancing in Kitty Russell's ball gown, oh no, she was dancing in her thin linen camisole and bloomers. He was holding her close, so that her breasts were pressed against his hard body, and his hands … they were not at all where they should be. She was breathing hard and sensations heretofore unfelt were making themselves known in the hinter regions of her body. The pump was primed so to speak and she could have remained in that dream until it reached the eventual climax, except for the fact there was the sound of moaning very close to her ear.

She opened her eyes and there in the moonlight was the object of her dream's affection. He moaned again and she could smell whiskey on his breath mixed with his musky male scent, it had a strange inebriating effect. She struggled for emotional sobriety. She whispered, "Mr. Dillon! What ever are you doing in here?"

He was on his side facing her, "uMmmmmmm." he moaned, low and husky, the sound barely audible - his body radiated heat. With some chagrin, she realized she had failed to alert the Marshal that she had switched their rooms. The oversight was her fault. She poked him in the chest with her boney forefinger, she whispered louder, "Mr. Dillon … Matthew, you're in the wrong bed." She pushed him slightly with the palm of her hand. "Get up!" But even as she ordered him she realized it wasn't likely to happen. He was feverish, his shirt damp with perspiration.

He moaned again, and then reached out and found Sydney Tuttwell. He pulled her close, with his great hand resting on her lower back, pressing her even closer to the compelling contours of his masculine body. His hot breath titillated her senses. His hungry lips sought and found hers. The kiss was intoxicating to Sydney and she found herself quite willingly, surrendering to the moment. He began a slow exploration with hands that left her breathless. They were magical, hard and calloused but infinitely gentle in the journey, and their trail aroused such exquisite delight as Sydney Tuttwell had never dreamed possible.

**GS GS GS**

Many was the night Matt Dillon had dreamed of Kitty Russell, reaching out for her, only to wake and find her gone, this night he reached out, and his searching hands found warm flesh. For a moment it was like the reality of her death became nothing more than a nightmare, and reality became his dream. For the first time in months he felt alive, his spirit soared with the joy of it. He kissed her, and ever so lovingly stroked her body, his hands sought the fullness of her bosom and it was then he realized it was not Kitty Russell in his arms, but his bride Sydney Tuttwell. Strange, he thought hazily, cradling her small warm breast in his hand, they're not big, but they do feel good. And that is when exhaustion, fever, alcohol, and opiate took control and he lost consciousness.


	40. Chapter 40

**Forty**

Bliss, she now knew the real meaning of the word and her core still quivered with small aftershocks. "Oh my", she thought, completely amazed, "if just the touch of his hand can cause such havoc, what if we actually …" She stretched like a contented kitten.

Beside her he was motionless, his hand still cupping her breast, "Matthew." she cooed lovingly, "Matthew." She gave him a gentle nudge.

He moaned a throaty response, "Kitty."

The name hit her like a punch in the gut. She pushed his hand away and sat bolt upright. "Kitty." She mouthed indignantly. "Kitty … Oh!" Anger welled inside, as she realized she'd very nearly given her virtue to a man who was essentially making love to another woman. She pulled herself from the bed, gathered what clothes she could and marched down the hall to her former room, where she proceeded to pace away the rest of the night.

Back in his bed, Matt Dillon feverish, delirious and amorous reached out and gathered in Sydney's still warm pillow, he held it close and sighed, "Ahhh, Miss Tuttwell …"

**GS GS GS**

Doc Adams stopped by the boarding house just in time for breakfast. "Didn't even hear the Marshal come in." Ma Smalley said as she poured Doc a cup of coffee and set a plate of pancakes in front of him. "Usually he makes enough ruckus to wake up the dead. Reckon that comes from living in the jail house for so many years."

Sydney had entered the kitchen during this exchange, she sat down at the table opposite the doctor. "Just coffee for me this morning Mrs. Smalley."

Adams pulled his spectacles out of his vest pocket and gave the school marm a good perusal. "Looking a little tired today, Mrs. Dillon."

"I didn't sleep as well as I might have. It was a hot night."

Doc squinted, his keen medical eye noting what in his considered opinion was a good case of whisker burn on her cheek and chin. He pursed together his lips and then swiped his moustache, hiding a slight smirk with the act. "Seen anything of the Marshal lately?" he asked.

A red glow crept up her neck, "I believe he is upstairs." She pushed back her chair, "On second thought Mrs. Smalley I don't think I want that cup of coffee. Excuse me doctor." She got up from the table and walked from the room going the long way through the house to the front stairs and taking those up to her bedroom.

"Well my land, what was that all about?" Ma wanted to know sitting down at the table next to Doc and taking a drink of the cup of coffee she'd prepared for Mrs. Dillon.

Adams looked down at his plate and this time he didn't try to hide the smirk, "Like the lady said, it got a little hot last night."

His meaning, when it came to roost in Mrs. Smalley's brain, caused her to choke on her coffee and cough until her eyes watered. When she gathered her wits a might she confided, "Oh, but Doc, they got separate bedrooms."

**GS GS GS **

Doc finished a second helping of pancakes before he headed up stairs. If what he suspected had gone on the night before between bride and groom, he wasn't too worried about his patient's condition.

However, one glance told him Matt was in far worse shape now, than he had been on his previous exam, "Matt, it's Doc." he said sitting down on the side of the bed and taking a wrist in hand.

Dillon opened eyes that were blurry, he had difficulty focusing. He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but couldn't, "Gotta get up." he said.

"I don't think so. You're sick Matt." He pulled back Dillon's unbuttoned shirt and examined the shoulder wound, he was relieved to see it was about the same as it had been the night before, maybe even somewhat better. There was most likely some other cause for the fever. He pulled out his stethoscope and began a more thorough assessment of his patient's condition, after a bit he said, "Now, listen to me Matt, you have a high fever, you need to rest. You got to give your body a chance to recover, you've been through a lot these past months, your body is run down."

Dillon was agitated, "Gotta get up." he mumbled and then fell back to a feverish sleep.

Matilda, doll in hand, was standing in the connecting doorway watching with a worried look on her face, "Doc, is he gonna die?"

Adams took care to wipe the worry from his own face when he addressed Matilda, "He's sick, but if we take real good care of him, he should be fine. If he follows doctor's orders and I'm going to need your help making sure he does."

Matilda moved closer and nodded, "Sure, I'll help."

"Good, first thing I want you to do is go to Miss Tuttwell, I mean Mrs. Dillon's room and tell her to come here."

"This is her room."

"It is?"

"Uh huh, she switched with Matt Dillon, but for some reason … they was both in here together last night."

"They were?"

"Uh huh … I saw 'em."

"You did?" He stared hard at her.

"Yup." She answered innocently.

He pressed on, "They were in bed? Together?"

"Uh huh, I saw 'em." Matilda placed a hand on her hip bone, "I thought Miss Tuttwell was having a bad dream, cause I heard noises, and I know if I was having a bad dream Miss Tuttwell would come to me, so I was going to go and make her feel better, but Matt Dillon got to her first."

"He did?" Dr. Adams could only imagine what Matilda had been witness to.

"Uh huh. So then I went back to bed."

"You're alright that they were in bed together?"

"Sure, that's what married people do isn't it, they sleep in the same bed, well that's what Matt Dillon and Miss Tuttwell was doing, sleeping."

He breathed a sigh of relief that that was all the little girl had seen, "Yes, Matilda, it certainly is what married people do. Well, uh … why don't you see if you can find Miss Tuttwell now."

"Ok."

Matilda returned several minutes later with a reluctant Sydney in tow. Doc addressed the little girl first, "Matilda, go downstairs and ask Ma for a pan of cool water and a nice clean sponge."

He watched her skip down the hall before addressing Sydney, "He's sick. It's not just the shoulder wound. He's got a fever, most likely cause is the mild influenza that's been going around. Newly mentioned that a few members of the posse experienced some unexplained fevers on the trail back to Dodge. In Matt's case, he's exhausted, his resistance is down and that's why this is hitting him harder. It's important that we keep the fever under control. I've got him on medication that should help, but, I'd like you to bathe his body throughout the day with tepid water. "

"Doctor Adams … I hardly think it appropriate for me to perform such an intimate task."

"You're his wife aren't you?"

She took time to nervously clear her throat before speaking, "I thought you were aware, ours is not a marriage in the conventional sense, but a legal arrangement for Matilda's sake." Even as she said it she knew she was convincing no one, not even herself. She bit her lip as the red flush spread up her neck again. Her face was soon beet red. She lowered her voice to a whisper, "Dr. Adams, I am not familiar with certain areas of the male anatomy."

She noted his gaze was resting on her tender cheek and chin. She continued with about as much aplomb as she could muster, "Doctor Adams, Mr. Dillon and I DID NOT consummate our marriage."

He took some pity on her then, "Well good heavens Sydney, you don't have to sponge him off there, just his upper torso, his arms, neck …"

She interrupted him with surprise in her voice, "You called me Sydney."

"By thunder I did, and that's what I'm going to call you from now on. Now, see here young lady, Matt Dillon is a mighty good friend of mine, for that matter so was Kitty Russell. So don't you think it's alright then, if you and I are on a first name basis?"

He was offering his friendship. She was touched by the gesture. She gave a slight nod of her head, "yes …" She struggled to remember ever hearing him referred to by a first name, and then she recalled the sign hanging by the stairs to his office, "Galen, it fits, Galen of Pergamum, ancient Greek physician…"

He shook his head, in that irascible way he had, which bordered on cranky good humor, "Just call me Doc, and I'll call you Sydney or maybe even Syd."

She smiled, a shy, somewhat unpracticed turning up of the lips, "Sydney, will be just fine … Doc."


	41. Chapter 41

**Forty-one**

After Doc left, Sydney sat beside the bed waiting for Mrs. Smalley to bring up the basin of water. He was sleeping soundly, the result of fever and the laudanum Dr. Adams had administered. They were alone, and it afforded her the opportunity to really study this man she had so impetuously married. His hair was long - unruly from sweat and sleep, it curled in a way that made her want to reach out and smooth it back in place. Against Ma's starched white sheets his complexion looked almost swarthy. The upper half of his face was deeply tanned and weathered by the elements, his cheeks, chin and jaw line, bore the stubble of twenty-four hours of whisker growth. Even in repose, there were deeply etched lines which fanned out from his eyes and around his mouth.

His large hands rested atop the coverlet. They were hard, and strong, scratched and bruised, dirt was lodged under the fingernails, which looked like they needed someone to take a file to them. She reached out to touch one, the movement initiated a response as his fingers coiled around hers. Warmth traveled through her body as she squeezed his hand back. She left her hand there until she heard Ma's footsteps coming down the hall at which point she pulled free.

She had jumped to her feet by the time Ma arrived. "Matilda is off playing with Herbie, I told her it was fine. I hope that was alright."

"Yes," Sydney answered, keeping her face lowered, lest Ma see evidence in her features of the jumble of emotions plaguing her mind.

Ma's voice remained matter of fact, "Doc said you ain't never sponged off anyone with a fever."

"That is correct."

"Well, how bout if I show you, I've done it lots of times, even sponged the Marshal off a time or two myself, although most times it was Kitty who tended his needs."

She set the basin down on his bedside table, "We'll need plenty of towels and an extra sheet or two." She left the room to retrieve those items from the linen closet. "Alright, let's see if between us we can get that shirt off a him." She gave Matt's face a light slap, "Marshal, we gotta get your clothes off, Doc wants you sponged." The three of them struggled for a little bit to no avail. "Shoulda told Doc to send over Festus or Newly to help out."

Both ladies were perspiring from the exertion, "Perhaps, Mr. Heitzer would assist us with our efforts." Sydney volunteered.

"That's a thought, the Misses and him was having coffee in the kitchen."

Her voice was perhaps a little too eager, "I will get them."

So with the help of Grandma and Grandpa Heitzer, Matt's shirt was removed and then, to Sydney's shock, his pants were pulled off, however, this was accomplished under the cover of one of the sheets Ma had brought in.

"Just give us a call if you need more help." Grandma Heitzer offered, as she and Grandpa left the room.

Ma dampened three washcloths in the water and placed one on Matt's forehead and the other two in his armpits. She briskly sponged his arms, and neck, and then each of his hands. "My his hands are warm." She said, "That fever's really got a hold of him." She followed the same procedure with each leg. Sydney observed everything she did, noting that the particular area of the male anatomy with which she was not familiar, was kept covered at all times.

It was hard not to note the numerous bullet wounds on his body, with time they had scarred to pale circles, but one was still pink, indicating it was a more current wound and of course the most recent injury to his shoulder was covered by the fresh dressing.

Ma gave a fond look in Matt's direction while wiping her hands on her apron, and then turned to the younger woman, "Now, you think you can handle this from here on?"

"It looks simple enough."

"Sponge him every half hour or so, don't dry him off, just let the air take the moisture, I got wash to do today, but I'll see if I can't break away for a spell to relieve you about mid-morning. I'll see to it there's fresh water sent up to you every so often, too."

"I would appreciate that Mrs. Smalley."

Ma gave her a studying look, "You'll do fine Sydney. Just common sense, is what it is." Then she left the room.

Sydney stared after. Now, Ma was calling her by her given name as well. It seemed she was being accepted into Matt Dillon's family circle whether she wanted to be or not. She was unaccustomed to familiarity. It made her feel vulnerable and exposed. She pondered this for a moment or two, before slipping away to retrieve a book and her alarm clock.

**GS GS GS**

He knew he was sick, knew he'd been doctored with laudanum, which always distorted reality and as much as he fought it the drug and fever won out. His dreams were a blur, it was like wandering through a house of mirrors. He'd see Kitty in the distance and call, "Kitty, wait, wait for me. Don't run away. I need you." But, she was always just out of his reach, laughing at him, teasing him. Sometimes she'd be right in front of him, he'd grab for her and she'd vanish and in her place was Sydney Tuttwell. It was all too confusing for his feverish mind to understand.

Then his dreams would take him to Sharlow's hideout and he'd see Willie again, lying in the dirt, only it wasn't eighteen year old Willie, but Willie as a child of Matilda's age whose face was distorted by death. His heart cracked and he Matt Dillon sobbed with the grief, grief for Willie, grief for the other Dodge men who had perished and grief for his Kitty Russell. But it was only a dream and his tears were only part of the illusion.

His eyes burned, his throat was raw, his body ached and there was a throbbing at the back of his head. He was hot, he was cold and he wanted to sleep, but someone was always fussing with him, forcing him to drink liquid which hurt his throat, washing him off with cool water that made him shake with the chills. "Leave me alone." he moaned, "Just leave me alone."

Sydney stiffened her spine. Moments earlier he'd again called for Kitty, and it served as a not so gentle reminder that the ghost of Kitty Russell still had residence in his heart. Her own heart, which had softened a might under the spell of his kisses, took back the armor of its familiar hard shell, "Do be quiet Mr. Dillon, I am acting under Dr. Adams orders, so you for once, have no say so in the matter. Now let me lift your head, you must drink plenty of water."

"Don't want it."

There was a little pleasure in the power of her words, "You are as weak as a kitten, If you do not cooperate, I shall plug your nose and force the water down your throat with one of Mrs. Smalley's funnels."

He acquiesced with a pained scowl and then a wince as the cold liquid seared his burning throat.

His voice was feeble and gravelly, "I gotta get up."

"There is no earthly reason to do so."

It took effort to speak, it took effort to focus but he found the strength to say, "Willie's funeral."

"Mr. Dillon", and then voice softened, "Matthew, you're sick, you must stay in bed. Mr. and Mrs. Roniger will understand. You can pay your respects when you are well again."

Waves were rushing over him, he was as a drowning man, "Told 'em I'd be there."

Again, she reached out to touch his hand and with the contact he held tight. His eyes closed, awash once more to his feverish dreams. She watched him wondering what was going on in his mind, for he was silent, save for an occasional moan.


	42. Chapter 42

**CHAPTER 42**

Sydney looked. She hadn't planned to, in fact she hadn't wanted to, but, being an educator, her inquiring mind got the better of her - or so she told herself. He was in a dead sleep, for Dr. Adams had administered another dose of Laudanum thirty minutes prior to the actual unveiling. She had been in the process of sponging him off, as she'd done a half dozen times prior, throughout the duration of that morning. She followed the same course Ma had set, the deviation had come when she had exposed his limbs. Sydney had to admit they were nice legs, and at this point she was getting quite familiar with them. They were long and straight, with well defined muscles and just enough hair on them to appeal to her baser instincts. She worked her way higher and higher and then, without due consideration, found herself lifting the sheet and exposing him completely. Of course she'd seen anatomical drawings in text books and even a few fine works of art depicting that particular area of the male anatomy with which she was not familiar. But, she had to admit the drawings and works of art couldn't hold a candle to the actual thing.

**GS GS GS **

Ma employed two helpers to aide with her Monday morning laundry endeavors. Maggie O'Meara, the middle aged widow of Patrick O'Meara, and Mai Ling a young woman of Chinese descent, whose father had run the town laundry until his death. Mai Ling had married a local boy, they were expecting their first child in six months. As with most young couples starting out, they had expenses and helping Ma with the wash was Mai Ling's way of supplementing their income. As for Maggie, her finances were stable, but she enjoyed gossiping with Ma and the extra change from the morning's work was donated to her son's growing family.

The center of laundry operations in the summer was the back kitchen porch of the boarding house, here Ma ran her small army as a working general. On this particular day, the ladies had been most busy since early morn, and now all the sheets were hanging on the line. The toweling was set to soak and the boarder's personal items were waiting attention in baskets.

Amid all the laundry day hubbub, Herbie and Matilda sat on the back porch steps. This location was hardly convenient for the laundresses. The children however, seemed oblivious to the fact that they had to be stepped over or walked around for access to and from the porch. For a time, Herbie amused himself with the yo-yo Grandpa Heitzer had made for his birthday, while Matilda sat somewhat morosely, with her chin in her hands and elbows resting upon her knees.

"I thought I told you two to go off and play." Ma said as she worked the scrub board which sat in a large tub filled with steamy water and lye soap.

Herbie backhanded a runny nose, "We did, but then Matilda couldn't think of anything she wanted to play. So we came back here. Got any milk and cookies Ma?"

"You just had breakfast not two hours ago Herbie Heitzer, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm up to my shoulders in soap suds. If you want something you'll have to get it yourself." She set the scrubbed towel in the rinse tub and grabbed another and began to grate it against the board. "Take a look in my cookie jar, might be something left in there. Baking day isn't 'til tomorrow."

Herbie popped up ready to run into the kitchen, but Ma held out a soapy hand to slow him down, "Stay away from the copper boiler on the stove, it's hot." She warned.

Herbie nodded and then gave Matilda a punch in the arm, "Come on Mattie."

Matilda shook her head, "I don't wanna, you go ahead." So, Herbie ran into the house banging the screened door behind him.

Ma frowned at Matilda, "You still pouting 'cause I won't let you go upstairs by your Pa?"

Matilda shook her head, but continued staring straight ahead.

Mrs. Smalley was feeling a little aggravated by Matilda's sullen attitude and she was never one to keep her aggravation to herself, "Don't set right with me, you sitting around doing nothing when there's all this work to be done. Get up now, and bring over that basket of Miss Taffy's clothes." Ma ordered and Matilda did as she was told, it was heavy and she had to drag it to Ma's feet.

"Thank you." Ma said and began sorting the whites from the darks and then stopped to look at Matilda who had returned to her former position on the porch steps. "How come you didn't want any cookies?"

"Not hungry." Matilda said.

"Are you sick?"

Matilda responded with a sigh, "no."

"You sure you ain't ailing?"

She sighed again, "I'm sure."

Mrs. O'Meara had returned from the clothesline with an empty basket which she set on the porch floor. She began running the towels Ma had placed in the rinse tub through the hand crank wringer. Despite having spent the last twenty years in Kansas she spoke with a lilting Irish brogue, "Who be ailing?" She asked.

Matilda stood up and looked at Mrs. O'Meara with real worry in her eyes, "Matt Dillon's the one that's ailing." she said. "Doc said he's real sick."

Mrs. O'Meara nodded her head, "Aye, run down and wore out, tis what he is. I knew this be coming, half of Dodge knew it be coming. Looking like a ghost, he was, for the last months, ever since Miss Kitty left us. It t'ain't no good for a man like he to be without his woman and that be a fact."

Ma's brows crossed and she spoke with tongue, forefinger and a stern warning in her voice, "Maggie O'Meara, he's got himself a woman now, so don't go scaring the child." Ma relaxed her face and voice when she turned to Matilda, "Your Pa's a big strong man, he'll be just fine with a little rest and care."

Matilda took two steps forward so that she was right next to Ma, she placed a hand on Mrs. Smalley's wet arm, "Miss Kitty was strong and healthy too, I know, 'cause she came to see me not too long before she got sick. She didn't get better. She died."

"Good heavens child, your Pa's not gonna die. He's just got the fever, he'll be fine. Now run on in the kitchen and bring me that bottle of bluing. While you're in there tell Mai Ling to start heating up the sad irons and get the boards set up. Sheets will be ready to be ironed directly. Mark my words, it's gonna rain before the day is done. We got work to do here."

"Yes Ma." Matilda said, but the seed of worry planted in her heart continued to grow.

No stranger to worry, Ma set about keeping her busy for the rest of the morning. Matilda put up no complaint and the extra pair of hands was helpful. At half past eleven she was sent to Taffy Boyd's room to wake her up.

Upon hearing the knock, Miss Taffy stumbled her way to the door. She had on a lacy, ill fitting negligee, her colored hair was tangled and dirty and her breath smelled awful. She'd had a hard night at the Long Branch, and had come in late. Late enough to know that two were occupying the Marshal's bedroom. She had stopped and listened at the door before continuing down the hall to her own boudoir. She had not been pleased by the discovery, her displeasure deepened when she checked in the room previously occupied by Miss Tuttwell and found it vacant.

Now, Miss Taffy, puffy eyed and peevish, opened the door a crack, and then lowered her gaze until it rested on Matilda's face, "Oh, it's you. What do you want?"

Matilda stood boldly and fixed her gaze on the saloon woman, "Ma said I should come wake you up and tell you food's just about on the table."

Matilda continued to stare and Taffy found it frankly disconcerting, "What are you looking at kid?"

"Nothing, just …"

"What?"

"You worked for Miss Kitty didn't you?"

"You know I did." she answered warily.

"Yeah, That's what I thought. Well, you better get dressed quick, 'cause Ma said she's too busy today, to set the food out twice."

"Brat!" Taffy hissed as Matilda turned on her heel and marched away leaving Miss Boyd to consider what had been the meaning behind the question. She slammed the door shut, "Too much of Miss Kitty in that kid ..." she mumbled under her breath as she stripped free of the negligee.

By afternoon the thunderstorms were back. Ma's kitchen looked like Mai Ling's father's Chinese Laundry, with clothes lines zigzagged across the room and filled with dripping wash. "It will be soup and day old bread for supper," Ma declared, for she was too occupied with the tending of wet socks and underwear to fix a proper meal.

Festus came by to relieve Sydney so she could stretch her legs and have a bowl of soup with the rest of the boarders. If anyone noticed, during the meal, that she had difficulty meeting the eye, no one said anything, nor did they call to attention to the blush that seemed ever present on her face. It was hot and muggy after all.

His fever finally broke later that evening and he slept peacefully despite the loud cracks of thunder that rattled the windows.

Sydney sat beside him, unable to sleep. She was feeling strong pangs of guilt for betraying his privacy and stealing a look at his manhood. She thought as well about what she had seen, in fact that particular area of the male anatomy heretofore unfamiliar to her, was the dominant thought in her mind. Why, the very idea brought a tingle of excitement to her core. She was so deep in this awareness that the thunderstorm went on around her unnoticed.

He'd been dreaming, they were ordinary dreams, no longer the haunted nightmares of fever and pain. It was a particularly loud boom of thunder that finally roused him from sleep. He opened his eyes slowly as a streak of lightening flashed the room. He saw Sydney sitting by the bed, back straight, eyes open, hands clasped, "That was a big one." he said referring to the thunder.

And Sydney, her mind's eye still focused on that particular area of the male anatomy readily agreed.


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 45**

She'd fallen asleep in the chair beside his bed, her neck at an odd angle, her back in a cramped position. She awoke with first light, when the birds outside were beginning the prelude to their joyous cacophony. From the first floor, there was the muffled but comforting sound too, of Ma in the kitchen preparing for her day, as the smell of strong coffee perking on the stove wafted up from below. She eased her body in an upright position and protested the movement with a stifled groan.

"Good morning." He said.

Startled, she jumped, blinking her eyes awake, "You were watching me sleep!" She accused indignantly, yet a strange excitement came with the intimacy of that thought.

"You needed the sleep, I didn't want to wake you." His eyes were clear and the fevered flush was absent from his face, "Look Sydney, I just wanted to say thank …"

She was blushing again. To cover her embarrassment she proclaimed in a prim and proper voice, "It is not necessary Mr. Dillon … Matthew, as Dr. Adams pointed out it was my obligation as your wife to tend to your needs. How are you feeling?"

He was worn out, his mind and his memory of the last twenty-four hours were a hazy confusion of dream, hallucination and vague bits and pieces of reality. What had actually happened and that which was conjured were a blur. However, judging from the direction of Sydney's nose, he decided any interaction involving Sydney must have been a figment of the fever for in no way did this stiff, snooty nosed female resemble the willing woman he'd held so lovingly in his arms, he was unexpectedly disheartened at the thought. He managed a smile, "I'll be fine, once I'm up and moving again."

She stood, "You shall do nothing of the sort. I'll not have you suffer a relapse." She began fussing with his covers, straightening his top sheet.

In self defense, his voice was mocking, "Why Sydney, I didn't know you cared."

She didn't appreciate his tone, and so she answered in kind, "I do have better things to do with my time than sit at your bedside and listen to the amorous ramblings of your love life."

Now it was he who was embarrassed, but it was more than that, for the mantle of grief fell back on his shoulders. The dream that had been a blur came to focus and he recalled the joy of having Kitty in his arms again, to have that discounted as amorous ramblings reduced it to sordidness it didn't deserve.

They were even. Both had delivered and received a blow to their untrusting hearts. Sydney saw the pain she'd caused and opted for a hasty retreat, "If you'll excuse me Mr. … Matthew, I have morning ablutions to perform, I'll let Mrs. Smalley know you're awake."

**GS GS GS **

In the kitchen, it was clear to all that Sydney was out of sorts. She'd snapped at Ma, been short with Matilda and completely ignored a comment Grandma Heitzer had made. It was due to these circumstances that Ma suggested Matilda take her Pa's breakfast tray up to him.

Matilda agreed, considering this the lesser of two evils. "Can I take a tray up for me too?" she asked.

"Keeping your Pa company …that's a right good idea, but maybe I ought carry the tray for you."

So, Matilda had breakfast with her father in a surprisingly companionable silence.

After breakfast, Doc came. He declared the Marshal on the mend, but cautioned against getting out of bed for the next two days, this decree resulted in a difference of opinion which ended in a threat of being hog tied to the bed post. Since the Marshal was still feeling weak he agreed, at least for the time being. Matilda eager to stay out of her step-mother's way volunteered to keep her parent company.

**GS GS GS**

Back in the kitchen Ma was folding yesterday's laundry. Sydney sat at the table next to her helping with the task.

"Looks to me like Matilda is going to need some new clothes before too long." She held up a cotton dress as an example. The garment was threadbare and the lace edging at the cuffs and neck was in tatters. There were soiled spots on the front and back. "Every little dress is in the same sorry shape. I can't get rid of these grass stains, Lord knows I've tried. Her drawers and underskirts aren't much better. You can't have the Marshal's daughter going around town dressed like a street urchin."

Sydney took the dress from Ma and fingered the damaged goods, "I hadn't noticed. She needs more practical clothing. Browns and dark gray gabardine, always a durable fabric, wears well, and I believe we can do away with the lace and ribbon. Much more sensible for a child as active as Matilda."

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as that," Ma began.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, we will see Mr. Lathrup today. I'm sure he has appropriate items in stock, if not I will order them from his mail order catalogue." They finished folding the clothes and half of Matilda's ended up in Ma's rag bag. Sydney rose with the clothes basket containing the family laundry in her arms. "I will speak to Mr. Dillon about this."

Up in his room, on his bed, Matt, Matilda and Herbie were playing a game of Happy Jack. It surprised Matt how good his daughter was at the card game and he found himself keeping a close eye on her hands. Kitty had been a cunning card player, he didn't doubt Matilda had inherited that particular skill as well, but he hadn't caught her in a slight of hand as yet.

Standing in the doorway, Sydney cleared her throat to make her presence known. She avoided his eyes as she spoke. "Matilda, I believe it is time for your father to rest now." Still not looking him in the eye, but somewhere closer to his left ear. "I've been made aware of the fact that Matilda needs new clothes. Her present wardrobe is in sad shape. I would like to take her to Mr. Lathrop's store. If that meets with your approval."

"Fine." he said, while eyeing Sydney's austere garb. "You could take her over to Mary Helgemoe's dress shop. She mentioned she has some material left over from Kitty's dresses that she could make up into something for Matilda."

"Mr. Dillon, I hardly think fine dress fabric would be appropriate for Matilda. The dresses she has have proved the fact she needs a sturdy sensible fabric."

He was tired, and didn't have the energy to put up a fight, even though he had a strong suspicion Kitty would have objected to her little girl being gowned in a study sensible fabric. Doc had given him something and now all he wanted to do was close his eyes. Still, he managed a smile, "Whatever you think best, Sydney."

His smile, weak though it was, was enough to melt a layer of the ice that coated Sydney's heart. "Yes Matthew." She replied, with an uplifting of lips that was her version of a smile.

He noted it, nodded and closed his eyes.

She took Matilda to her room and saw to it, that the child was presentable for a trip to the store. "Can Herbie come?" Matilda asked as Sydney ran a comb through her recalcitrant curls.

"Not this time."

So mid-morning, Matilda and Sydney set out for the General Store. They passed the Marshal's office on the way. Festus was sitting on the chair out front with his feet propped on the hitching rail, He jumped to his feet as they approached, removing his grimy hat at the same time. "G'morning Miss Sydney." he greeted, "I hear tell from Doc that Matthew is doing some better today."

"Yes, Mr. Hagen, the fever has left and his mind is clear." She hardly looked at him and didn't stop walking.

Matilda's response was much more animated, "He is better Festus, Ma let me eat breakfast with him in his room this morning and then we played Happy Jack, I won."

"Well, ain't that just plumb ol'd good news. You tell him, I'll be by later to set and jaw fer a spell."

"I sure will."

"Come Matilda, we have shopping to do." Sydney took a firmer grip on the little girl's hand and upped her pace.

"Bye Festus." Matilda called as she was pulled away.

The store was busy. The farmers were in Dodge City. The ground was still too wet from the rain for them to get much accomplished in the fields. So, it was a good day to go to town.

Sydney marched right to Mr. Lathrop and placed a piece of paper in front of him. "I will need these items for Matilda." Together they started going over the list, leaving Matilda to fend for herself.

She checked out the candy counter and then walked the aisles looking at the various items for sale. It was then that she saw Mrs. McGoo and Mr. Hinkle shopping over by the yard goods. She skipped over to them, "Hi!"

Mrs. McGoo beamed, "Well hello Mattie. My how I've missed you."

"I missed you too. Is Emily coming soon?"

Mr. Hinkle answered, "I am pleased to say, she should be coming on next Monday's train."

Matilda clapped her hands together in excitement. "I will be so happy to see her again."

Mrs. McGoo smiled, "I'm certain she feels the same. Mattie, my dear, I decided I wanted to make her a pretty comforter for her bed. Mr. Hinkle and I have been looking at material. Now that you're here you can tell us what she would like."

"Something with pretty colors. The Sisters of Charity don't like pretty and the orphans always had to wear brown and black. You know she can't see very well, but she liked the pretty colors of my clothes."

"You didn't have to wear brown and black?" Mr. Hinkle asked.

"I wasn't an orphan. When ever Miss Kitty visited me, we would go to Madame Rene' Jacquemart, she's a lady from France and she makes dresses for little girls. Miss Kitty said it's important for a lady, even a little lady like me, to have pretty clothes, with ribbons and lace 'n such."

Mrs. McGoo smiled and the roses in her cheeks bloomed, "Your mother was right, and you know what. I will make pretty dresses for Emily and I will make matching dresses for you too. Blue and maybe pink too, I never met a little girl yet who didn't like pink. What else can I do that Emily will like? I do so what her to be happy with us."

Matilda was a little surprised that Mrs. McGoo would ask. "You know how to make a little girl happy better than anyone I've ever met in my whole life."

"I do? Tell me."

Matilda smiled with her eyes, a lesson she'd learned from Mrs. McGoo. "Just do what you do, make her pony cookies and have tea parties. Pick flowers with her and let her help you make cakes in the kitchen. Put ribbons in her hair, and pretty gloves on her hands. She will love you, because she will know you want her and love her back."

Mrs. McGoo dropped to her knees and wrapped her wonderfully plump arms around Matilda. "Oh little Mattie, I love you too, don't ever forget that."

Sydney had finished discussing the list with Mr. Lathrop and had stepped forward to find Matilda. Standing behind the dress mannequin at the end of the counter, she listened to the conversation between Matilda and Mrs. McGoo. The words hit a new chord. Mrs. McGoo was the mother every little girl dreamed of having … even she, Sydney Tuttwell, as a child, had longed for a mother like Mrs. McGoo in her life. This was a somewhat earth shattering revelation to the pragmatic school teacher, who had never had a child look at her with the same loving eyes Matilda had shown to Myrtle McGoo. Sydney did an about face, and headed back to the counter. "Mr. Lathrop, about that order …"

**GS GS GS**

Mr. Roman Gundrum, Attorney at Law stood on the boarding house front porch, banging away at the door knocker. Ma answered it in a timely fashion. A little out of breath and smoothing her hair, she said, "Hello".

"Good day Mrs. Smalley, I've come to see Marshal and Mrs. Dillon on a business matter."

"Marshal's been sick, and Sydney's taken Matilda shopping at Mr. Lathrop's, should be back directly though." Ma replied.

"I'm aware of Marshal Dillon's illness, but I saw Dr. Adams at Delmonico's this morning. He said it would be alright if I paid him a brief visit."

"Well, if Doc said so, come on, I'll take you up to his room."

**GS GS GS**

He'd been sleeping but had recently awakened. He was beginning to get hungry and wondered if Matilda was going to join him for his noon meal. Maybe Sydney would join them too. Despite the early morning confrontation, he'd been having warm thoughts about his bride. Doc and Ma had both said how diligent she'd been in his care. He'd never expected that of Sydney. The foggy images of her persisted in his memory. It was hard for him to decipher what was truth and what was dream. But, he could have sworn he'd held her in his arms, touched her flesh with his hands. He'd seen her ready blush that morning, and he even wondered if her haughty attitude might have been a cover-up for a deeper emotion. With some surprise Matt Dillon acknowledged he hoped that was the case. Maybe between the two of them there was something worth building on.

Footsteps coming down the hall interrupted his thoughts, "Mr. Gundrum's here to see you." Ma announced from outside the door.

Matt straightened his nightshirt and tried to pull himself up a little in the bed before the somber faced lawyer entered his room. "I'm glad to find you looking better than I was led to believe. I'm here with the contract Mrs. Dillon asked me to prepare. She said she had advised you of it's content, but I will be happy to go over the finer points."

Contract? His mind was fuzzy, and then it came to him as he recalled Sydney's visit to his office. His hope for a more amiable relationship with his bride vanished. He felt a sense of loss at the thought. Mr. Gundrum handed him the papers and he stared blankly at them for a moment before taking a closer look. Everything Sydney had discussed was spelled out in black and white, right down to the hand holding. A solid image flashed his mind, she'd offered her hand and he'd taken it. He shook his head in an effort to clear the cobwebs, and he knew he'd held more than her hand in his.

Well, if this is the way she wanted it, this is the way she could have it. His face turned grim, "You got a pen?" he asked. Mr. Gundrum handed him his writing instrument and Matt Dillon put his name to the contract.

"I'll get Mrs. Dillon's signature, witness it, and the contract will be binding. Mrs. Smalley said your wife was to return shortly."

Matt nodded. "I'm feeling kinda tired now. Mr. Gundrum, if you don't mind."

The lawyer bowed out of the room, "Certainly Marshal. Sorry for the inconvenience."

**GS GS GS**

They were late getting back from their shopping trip because they'd stopped at Mary Helgemoe's Dress Shop along the way. Mr. Gundrum was just about to leave the boarding house, "Mrs. Dillon, I have the contract ready for your signature."

"Oh, well about that contract…" Sydney started.

"Not to worry Mrs. Dillon, the Marshal signed without hesitation." He unfurled the contract and laid it flat on the hall table. He withdrew his pen from his vest pocket and held it out to her. "Now if you'll just sign here please."


	44. Chapter 44

**Forty-Four**

For the first time in her life, Sydney feigned illness. "Oh dear," she exclaimed, with the back of her hand to her forehead for dramatic effect, "I'm feeling quite faint."

Roman Gundrum, generally the most imperturbable of men, in the most intense of courtroom situations, beccame a bumbling fool. "Oh my, oh my … " he stuttered. "What shall we do … Come sit down … no … let me take you to Mrs. Smalley, no … let me take you upstairs … oh my, oh my."

Matilda, was a quick study, much like Miss Kitty in that respect, and she reached up and took Sydney's arm. The little girl recalled Sister Regina from her convent days, who often had fainting spells, she said with a voice that mimicked Sister Leonilda, "Is it one of your sick headaches again, dear Step-mother. I will take you upstairs and wash your face with good smelling water."

"Yes, dear, please do." she allowed Matilda to lead her through the front hall with Mr. Gundrum standing quite open-mouthed.

"About the papers Mrs. Dillon ..."

"Just leave them, when I'm feeling better, I'll look them over and get back to you."

"But all I need is your signature, everything is there just as you requested."

Sydney moaned and Matilda urged, "Come step-mother," as they made their way through the door to the dining room.

Mr. Gundrum stood there, pen still in hand. He shook his head and then smiled, as the knowledge came to him that he was being played, perhaps Mrs. Dillon was having second thoughts. He was a confirmed bachelor, but that didn't mean there wasn't still something of the romantic in Roman. He chuckled and left the contract on the hall table, certain Mrs. Dillon would return shortly to retrieve it.

Sydney allowed Matilda to slowly lead her into the kitchen, just in case Mr. Gundrum chose to follow, once there Sydney fell into a chair and actually giggled. Matilda, still not sure what this was all about giggled too.

Ma, standing at the kitchen stove stirring their noon soup, turned to look at them, "You two want to let me in on the joke?"

**GS GS GS**

Taffy Boyd came down the staircase that ended in the front hall. She glanced out the open door and saw Roman Gundrum descending the porch steps and proceed down the street in the direction of his office. "Odd", she thought, "wonder what that shyster was doing here ..."

She noticed the paperwork on the hall table, and being a curious sort of female took it upon herself to investigate further. She picked it up and read the contract and then carefully folded it back up and put in right where she'd found it. She gave a sly sidelong glance toward the voices coming from the kitchen. The corners of her mouth lifted in a slightly malevolent grin. Then she turned and headed back up the stairs to her room.

**GS GS GS**

In the kitchen, Ma, getting no satisfaction to her question, requested some help in getting the noon meal on the table. "Mrs. Smalley, I would be happy to assist you, but there is something I must take care of first."

"I'll help you Ma." Matilda volunteered.

Sydney returned to the hall picked up the contract and hurried up the stairs to her room, where she tucked the papers safely away in her bottom dresser drawer, under her winter underwear.

She moved to stand by the window, idly watching the traffic flow of farm wagon and cowpony while her logical mind tried to get a grip on the strange tide of emotions passing through her thought process. Every '_thou shalt not' _put forth in the legal document was exactly what her lonely body and heart craved for.

**GS GS GS**

On the third day he rose from his bed. He'd had enough. He figured a bed was only good for two things, he'd had enough sleep lately to last a good long time, and according to Sydney Tuttwell's legal covenant the other wasn't going to ever happen. So getting up and out of bed seemed the best alternative. Besides there were things he had to be doing. They were both early risers and found themselves together at the breakfast table.

Ma had just served them. Eggs, side meat, pancakes and muffins for the Marshal and coffee and dry toast for the teacher.

She ate silently, but he felt the need to fill in the quiet. "I'm heading out to the Roniger's today. I feel bad I didn't make it to Willie's funeral."

Ma stirring up another batch of pancake batter said, "You were sick, I reckon they understand why you weren't there."

Sydney took another bite of toast and then a sip of coffee, before she said, "If it is acceptable, I would like to accompany you."

He stopped chewing long enough to give her a quizzical look. He swallowed, "I'd be glad for the company."

Ma offered a little advise from the cook stove, "Take Matilda with you, it'll bring Bess comfort and it'll be good for the child too. She ought to be around a real family some, to see how it's all supposed to work."

So later that morning Matt put Kitty's horse to the buggy and the Dillons set out for the Roniger farm. The temperature had cooled and the air was fresh and breezy and the sky a brilliant blue. With Matilda seated between them the ride was amiable.

The Roniger farmstead was neat and clean. The house freshly whitewashed and the barn sported a fresh red paint job. The front porch held a swing, several wooded rocking chairs and a couple clay pots filled with bright red geraniums.

There was a large vegetable garden between the house and the barn. It was trimmed with cheery marigolds to keep away the rabbits. On the opposite side of the home was a merry-go-round, just like the one at the Dodge City School, along with swings and a see-saw. There were young Ronigers everywhere in the play-yard, making the noise of childhood in a somewhat subdued fashion. On a hill behind the garden was a well tended area enclosed by a new white picket fence. A fresh mound of dirt with flower petals strewn atop was visible through an open gate. Even in death, Willie was part of the family who mourned him.

Will Roniger stepped from the barn to walk out and greet them. Matt assisted Sydney from the buggy while Matilda jumped down by herself. As Will neared, Dillon held out his hand, "Will, I'm sorry we weren't here for the funeral."

"That's alright Matt, we understand you were sick. What's important is you're better and you're here now. Bessie'll take great comfort in that." The farmer looked embarrassed as he quickly removed his straw work hat. "Forgive my bad manners Mrs. Dillon, I shoulda welcomed you first. We're mighty honored to have you come to visit."

"Nonsense Mr. Roniger, as Matthew said, we're just sorry we weren't able to come sooner."

"How's Bessie doing?" Matt asked.

"She's doing, we all are. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord - but it surely leaves a lonesome spot in the heart. We miss our boy something fierce. It's hard on the children too. Hard for them to understand what they're feeling - but I reckon time and faith will help heal. Come on in to the house. It's baking day, I reckon there are fresh cookies just waiting to be et."

Matilda looked off to the play yard. Will caught her eye. "Miss Matilda, I reckon you'd like to be out playing with the rest of the youn'uns."

She nodded.

"Why don't you come in the house, give Miss Bessie a hug, have a cookie or two and then you can go out and play. That sound good?"

Matilda nodded again. She grabbed for her father's hand and then for Miss Tuttwell's too. The action joining them as a family as they walked into the grieving household.


	45. Chapter 45

**FORTY-FIVE**

They entered the Roniger house through the front door. The house was neat as a pin and scented by the aroma of pine tar soap and cookie dough. The lower level of the home consisted of a large L-shaped room, which constituted parlor, dining room and kitchen. The fourth section was the bedroom of Will and Bess. Visible from the doorway was the sight and sound of Bess and her two older daughters baking cookies. As they worked they sang the old hymn Amazing Grace. Their voices sweetly blending in not so perfect harmony.

_The earth shall soon dissolve like snow, The sun forbear to shine; But God, who call'd me here below, Will be forever mine._

Will and his guests waited until the final verse ended. "We have company Mother." He called out.

Bessie turned with a start. Her eyes were red and her nose had a slightly ruddy hue. Her hands flew to her chapped cheeks. "Oh good heavens!" She exclaimed and then, "Marshall, are you sure you should be out of bed? You're looking a might peaked yet."

Matt smiled at her. It was a sad smile for his own grief was still fresh enough to appreciate the pain of hers. "I'm fine Bessie, but I thank you for asking."

For a beat they shared the sorrow in each other's eyes. "Did Will show you the plot we fixed up for Willie?"

"Not yet."

"Remember, how he always liked that spot up on the hill? Used to play there as a little boy. Even built himself a fort. I reckon he drug you up there a time or two to show off his handiwork. Must have seemed like a mighty mountain to such a little tyke." Her lips trembled and she quickly found a chair and sat down abruptly. Her daughters rushed in to console their mother dropping to their knees on either side of Bess each to lay a head on her bosom.

She gave the girls a pat and took a long ragged breath. "I shouldn't give in so to the tears. Willie wouldn't be happy. Always told me crying was for sissies."

She hoisted herself back to her feet and Will stepped forth to wrap a supportive arm around her. He dropped a gentle kiss on her head. "There, there Bess, I reckon under the circumstances the boy will forgive you some tears."

She pulled a hanky from her pocket and gave her nose a good blow. "Let's sit down at the table and have a nice visit. My heavens I haven't even congratulated you on your marriage." She gave Sydney a smile. "You're a lucky woman Mrs. Dillon. Matt is as fine a man you'll ever find, aside from Will here, that is."

Raw emotion unnerved her and Sydney's voice came out too stiff to be warm, "I'm sure you're correct Mrs. Roniger."

"Bess … my friends call me Bess."

There was a slightly awkward silence, and then Mrs. Roniger called to her daughters. "Susie, would you please serve coffee and Mary put some cookies on my company plate."

"The one Miss Kitty gave you Ma?" Mary asked.

Bess gave Sydney an apologetic glance. "Yes dear, that's the one."

Without haste Bess's wishes were carried out. The plate was a lovely oversized platter, with charming hand painted roses decorating the outside. It was rimmed by gold, however the gold was beginning to wear thin in spots.

Matilda was intrigued. "My mother gave you that?" she asked.

"Yes Matilda she did. She was very dear to me. Strange isn't it. We're worlds apart, yet we were such good friends. I miss her … I miss Willie."

Matilda took a small taste of cookie, to see if they were as good as Ma's before investing a big bite. Finding they were she took a bigger bite and as she chewed she thought and then asked, "You s'pose Willie found Miss Kitty up there in heaven?"

Bess smiled, the truest smile since they'd walked in the house. "Why my goodness, I never thought of that, well I'm sure she was up there to meet him." She saw then that Matilda had nothing to drink. "Good heavens child, you need some milk to grow on." and she herself rose from the table to fetch the refreshment for her best friend's little girl.

When Matilda had finished her cookies she asked if she could go out and play. Matt Dillon offered a scowl and Miss Tuttwell gave her head an infinitesimal shake, but Bess said, "Why surely you may. Susie and Mary you go on out with Matilda, introduce her to the children and then keep an eye on them."

There were children of all ages everywhere to be seen. But it was the three identical little boys that she found most puzzling. They ran up to greet her, not at all shy like the other children seemed to be. The three boys talked as one, finishing each other's sentences and trains of thought.

"Hi!" Said one.

"You're Miss Kitty's kid." Said the second.

"You wanna ride Elmo?" said the third.

Susie interrupted, "Matilda, these are the triplets, Timmy, Tommy and Tony. Don't even try to tell them apart … you can't unless you know them real well."

Matilda looked again at the boys. They must have been about her age. They had freckled faces and each was missing a top tooth. Like her mother used to read poker players, Matilda tried to read the triplets. "What's an Elmo?" She finally asked.

"He's one of our donkeys."

"We got five of 'em."

"We ride 'em to school and back."

"Where's your school?" Matilda wanted to know.

"'bout three miles down the road."

Matilda could see the donkey corral on the other side of the play yard. Five floppy eared soft eyed creatures stood with their heads stretched over the fence watching the play, looking for all the world like they'd love to join in. They reminded her of Ruth, the mule Uncle Festus rode, except these creatures looked more like a stuffed toy.

"I've never ridden a donkey before." Truth was she'd never ridden anything before.

"It's easy, and if you fall…"

"you don't get hurt..."

"'cause it's not that far to the ground."

"Elmo's the nicest."

"He was our big brother Willie's ..."

"... When Willie was a little boy."

"You wanna pet him?"

Matilda looked up at Susie, "Is it alright?"

"Sure, but you might end up smelling like a barnyard." There was a commotion over by the swing set and the two bigger girls hurried off to investigate, leaving four seven-year olds to their own devices.

Two of the boys grabbed her hands and pulled her across the play yard to the corral while the third ran ahead of them to prepare Elmo for the meeting.

"Snatch up some of that grass by the fence post and offer it to him."

"Hold your hand out flat."

"So he don't nibble at your fingers."

Matilda did. She admitted to herself that Matt Dillon's big buckskin scared her, and she even felt some trepidation in regard to her mother's gentler smaller mare. But these cute creatures were just the right size and seemed possessed of such a gentle happy nature that she wanted to give Elmo a big hug and take him home with her. She giggled with both the thought of Elmo at Ma's kitchen table and the tickle the burro's soft muzzle made on her hand.

"Elmo's a Jack."

"That's what you call boy donkeys."

"Girl donkeys are called Jenny."

Puzzled, Matilda said, "Huh? Then why do you call him Elmo?"

"Cause it's his name silly."

By this time the four had climbed up on the top rail of the corral. "Most donkeys don't like the snow."

"'cept Elmo … he does …"

"Snow? I've never even seen snow." Matilda said, trying to imagine the cold white stuff she'd heard so much about.

"We got snow all winter long."

"But sometimes it melts away."

"Then it snows again."

Elmo sidled up to Matilda still sitting on the rail. "Go on, hop on his back."

"Really?" She questioned but even as she asked she had tossed a leg over the back of the animal. "Now what?" Matilda called out as the little animal set off at a donkey trot around the perimeter of the corral. Her small hind end bouncing up and down and sideways with each rise and fall of hoof beat.

"Hang on." The three boys shouted in unison.

Before long all five donkeys had been put into play as the rest of the children joined in. There was much laughing and giggling as they raced in slow motion around the corral. Matilda fell off a couple times, and her dress was soiled beyond hope, but it was the best time she could ever remember having.

**GS GS GS**

In the house the Will, Bessie and Matt talked their way through the grief. Bessie finally worked up the courage to ask Matt to tell her what happened the day Willie was killed. He related the events as kindly as he could, sparing the more gruesome details. He talked of the boy's bravery and courage.

Will spoke quietly, "You were his hero Matt, you was always larger than life. He wasn't much of a hand at farming. Oh, he worked hard, but his heart wasn't in it. He was hoping to follow in your footsteps. He wanted to be a lawman. Afore he left to join up with the posse, he asked if that was alright with me. I told him I couldn't think of a higher calling than to serve his fellow man."

Matt swallowed hard, "I was mighty proud to ride along side Willie. But, I wish to God, instead of asking him to go home, I'd a told him to go."

"Wouldn't have done much good Matt, his heart was set on doin' a man's job."

Bessie got up and poured them each a fresh cup of coffee. She sat down again and dabbed at her eyes. "What a year, Kitty and now young Willie … death comes in threes … "

Will shook his head at her, "Bessie, you know that ain't true, just one of them old wives tales."

"A man can learn a lot from an old wife … the good Lord gives you only what grief you can bear … but mark my words … death comes in threes."

They were all quiet for a moment contemplating Bessie's prediction. There was a question Dillon had wanted to ask Bess Roniger ever since Matilda had come into his life, there just hadn't been a right time to do it. He realized this wasn't the right time either, so he held his tongue.

Bess must have read his mind. She offered him a cookie and the answer to his question. "Matt … I didn't know about Matilda either, looking back … there were signs I should have picked up on, and I reckon that holds double true for you. But, no … I didn't know about Matilda."

Now it was Dillon's turn to look away. He grabbed for the big red handkerchief he had stuffed in a back pocket and blew his nose. The fresh wound to Bessie's heart and the older wound to his were suddenly as one, raw, open and mortal. With time the pain would diminish but it was a fatal blow that neither would completely recover from.

The mantle clock chimed three times. Sydney cleared her throat, "Perhaps it's time we head back to Dodge."

Bessie stood up again. "Before you go, I've got something for you." She hurried to the bedroom and came back a short time later with a large brown paper wrapped bundle, which she handed to Matt.

"What's this?" He asked.

"Go ahead and open it on up."

"Sydney?" He turned the bundle in his wife's direction, for she was seated by his side, She looked up into his moist eyes and then quickly looked away and back at Mrs. Roniger.

Bessie bit her lip and then explained, "You might call it a … wedding present."

Sydney sat a little straighter in her chair, "Mrs. Roniger, umm Bessie, there's no need for that."

"Just open it up, Sydney." Matt said.

She did, revealing a beautifully crafted patchwork quilt in the wedding ring pattern." A woman ought to have a quilt made by her kin or friends when she gets married. Let's her know she's loved by more than just than the man she calls her husband."

"But … we don't sha…" Sydney began.

Matt interrupted her. "We thank you for the gift. It's real pretty."

"Yes." The bride added a little more graciously, "It's lovely, we'll treasure it."

"Miss Sydney, why don't you go out and get Matilda, then we can all go on up the hill and pay our respects to Willie." Bessie requested.

Sydney understood, there was something Bessie needed to say to Matt in private. "Certainly." She replied.

When the door closed behind her, Matt turned again to Bessie. "Is this the quilt Kitty asked you to make?"

"Yes." Mrs. Roniger sighed and smiled, "She always admired the one on our bed, the one my Ma made for me. She told me the two of you were going to get married, she figured the same kind of quilt might bring good luck. She bought an entire bolt of fabric for each pattern of material. She didn't want none of the extra back. She said, 'what good will it do me Bessie, I can't sew more than a hem or a button on'. I had me enough left over to sew dresses and new shirts for each of the children. Anyway, I figured Kitty'd want you to have it now."

He looked closer at the quilt, fingering the fabric Kitty must have painstakingly chosen to cover their marriage bed. He blinked hard, "Like Sydney said, we'll treasure it."


	46. Chapter 46

**FORTY-SIX**

Sydney stuck her head back in the doorway of Roniger house and called, "Matthew, come quickly, you need to see this."

He got up from his chair rather hastily and rushed out the door, wondering as he did, what kind of havoc Matilda was causing. Will and Bess hurried after the newlyweds.

Sydney was halfway down to the donkey corral by the time he caught up to her, with Will and Bess close on his heels. There were children of all sizes gathered around the corral, some sitting on the rails of the enclosure others leaning against it, cheering, hooting and laughing. One of the Roniger triplets shouted from the back of his donkey, "Pa, Ma … look at Matilda!"

Matilda, grass stained and muddy was riding Elmo like she'd been doing it her whole life. She had a straw hat on her head and someone's bandana tied around her neck. She waved as she made the pass in front of them. "Look at me Pa - ah… Matt Dillon … Look at me!"

His heart caught in his throat. That was the closest his daughter had ever come to calling him anything other than Matt Dillon or Doody-head.

"You look like a real cowgirl Mattie," he shouted to his daughter. "Looks like we might have to invest in a riding pony," Matt said to Sydney at his side.

"Maybe two …"

"Two?"

She didn't look at him, but kept her gaze on Matilda and Elmo, "I think I'd like to have a horse as well."

"You?"

"Yes, I was actually a competent equestrian in my youth. I found riding quite exhilarating."

An unexpected image popped in his head. He replied with a smile, "I'd like to see that!"

**GS GS GS**

After the high drama of the Roniger kitchen, it was a welcome change to have something pleasant to discuss on the ride home. Although Matilda was a little disappointed at first to find that her father thought a pony was a better option than a donkey. As for Sydney, Matt offered, "this mare of Kitty's is saddle broke, why don't you ride her?"

"Because, Mr. Dillon, I believe I have enough hand me downs of Miss Kitty's already."

**GS GS GS**

Miss Taffy Boyd was not good at keeping secrets, especially when it was something as monumental as the knowledge of the marital contract that ruled the Dillon marriage. Since learning of the legal arrangement she had plotted and planned the most beneficial way to use the information to her best advantage.

In her imagination she could envision herself slipping into the Marshal's room late at night to offer a little loving kindness to ease his sorrow and frustrations. He would become so enamored with her lovemaking that he would call an end to his sham of a marriage with Miss Tuttwell. He would sweep Miss Taffey off her feet and into his arms. She would become Matt Dillon's real wife. Something not even the great Kitty Russell could have claimed. Just thinking about it all brought a feeling of real pleasure to the saloon hostess.

However, in the end, Miss Taffey spilled the beans just before closing time Friday night at the Long Branch Saloon.

By Saturday morning the news was being exchanged freely from merchant to customer, neighbor to neighbor and employer to employee. Dodge City was nothing if not efficient at spreading gossip.

**GS GS GS**

On Saturday, Mrs. McGoo came to visit. She had a wrapped bundle in hand and an invitation to her wedding. Sydney Elvira answered the door and offered a terse greeting.

Upon hearing Mrs. McGoo's voice Matilda came sliding down the banister to the entry way of the boarding house. "Is Emily here already?" she asked excitedly, making a perfect landing in the process.

"Not yet dear, her arrival has been postponed by a few days. Mr. Hinkle and I thought we'd have our wedding ceremony a week from this coming Monday, after Emily arrives on the train. I know it will be a lot for her to take in so shortly after her arrival. But, we want to start our lives together as a real family."

"Will it be a wedding like Miss Cynthia's?" Matilda wanted to know.

"Well, not as fancy as all that. I have a new blue dress, and Mr. Hinkle wants me to wear wild flowers in my hair. I'll carry a bouquet of daisies from my garden. It'll be real nice, and made all the more special by having our friends and family with us."

"What's in the package?" Matilda wanted to know.

"Oh, my heavens! I almost forgot, it's a dress I made for you. I made one like it for Emily too. I hope it fits her, I assumed she would be about your size Mattie. I thought you and she could be our flower girls. Since you've already done it before you can show Emily what to do." Mrs. McGoo turned to Sydney Elvira, "You and Marshal Dillon will come won't you?"

"I can't speak for Mr. Dillon, but rest assured that Matilda and I will participate in whatever way you'd like."

Ma called from the kitchen, "Matilda, I need your help with setting the table."

As Matilda ran off to help Ma, Mrs. McGoo offered Mrs. Dillon one of her special smiles. The one that crinkled the corner of her eyes and brought out the dimples in her cheeks. She reached out and took Sydney's hands in her own. "Being a wife and mother is the most fulfilling aspect of life."

Sydney raised her nose a might, feeling the need to justify her profession. "I have found my career as an educator to be most satisfying."

"I'm sure you have. But, a career doesn't warm your toes on a cold night, at least not the career you have pursued. Mrs. Dillon, I don't mean to be forward and I know this is not any of my business, but will you take a little advise from someone a bit older and a bit more experienced in the wifely arts?"

Sydney felt a flush rising to her cheeks but she maintained her poise. "Go on."

"A happy home is a blessed thing. You can't take Miss Kitty's place in Mr. Dillon's life, but perhaps you can find your own place in his heart. I don't know that I could have succeeded had the opportunity fully presented itself, but I can assure you I would have done my best to make myself a willing wife to satisfying his baser needs."

"Mrs. McGoo! You are correct, this is none of your business. Furthermore, I hardly think it proper to discuss what I believe you are implying. "

"I care about Matilda, so maybe that gives me a little say in the matter. You are a very attractive woman you proved that at the Bodkin home. But, my dear you have to loosen up a bit, soften the hard edges and if nothing else, learn how to smile. It takes years off the face and makes those around you feel content."

Sydney closed her eyes for a long moment and when she opened them again, her voice was tense.

"I will have Matilda try on the dress and let you know if there are alterations needed. Good day to you Mrs. McGoo"

**GS GS GS GS**

Marshal Dillon was keeping an eye on the jailhouse and did not accompany them to church services on Sunday. Matilda, who always found it difficult to sit still in church had been amusing herself with the occupation of one busy spider as she made a web on the pew in front of her. It was a muggy summer day and Ma who had been cooling herself with a fan advertising the undertaking services of Mr. Percy Crump had eventually reached out and smashed the poor creature flat with the fan.

Mrs. Dillon, seemed preoccupied. She spent more time studying those around her than paying attention to the homily. Her mind was still reeling from Mrs. McGoo's sermon the previous day. It was easy to spot those couples who had achieved a happy harmony within their homes. Between husband and wife there were kindly smiles and frequent touches. The children were happy and obedient.

On the other hand those families who had not attained a degree of accord sat distanced from one another and neither smiles nor physical contact were exchanged. And moreover, their offspring were as a rule surly and difficult to manage. The women, she noticed were grim faced, looking over worked and older than their years. And then, most inappropriately, she reminded herself later, she thought of those moments spent in the amorous embrace of her husband and the utter delight of her body's response.

Matilda had to give Miss Tuttwell a slight nudge when the sermon was over and the congregation had moved to their feet and the teacher still sat in her pew.

**GS GS GS**

That afternoon brought another caller to Mrs. Smalley's boarding house. Young Lettie Krump along with her little brother Helmut paid a social visit to the new Mrs. Dillon.

In the time since her brief courtship with Matt Dillon, Lettie had taken the opportunity to consider the man and the other women on Kitty Russell's list. Like most folks in town she'd been of the opinion that Mrs. McGoo would be the eventual winner and it had been a huge surprise when Miss Tuttwell was crowned the new Mrs. Dillon.

Leticia had been a former pupil of Miss Tuttwell and had a good respect for the teacher, but she also had a fair amount of curiosity as well, especially in light of the latest gossip. She and her new beau George were in the early stages of exploring the pleasures of a physical relationship. The girl couldn't help but wonder why Miss Tuttwell would be opposed to marital intimacy with someone as handsome and virile as Matt Dillon.

Lettie held forth a plate, "I brought _de_ apple _kuchen_. I know Matthew is fond of it. Helmie und I _vanted _to_ vish _you many years of happiness."

"Thank you Miss Krump, I'm sorry you've missed Mr. Dillon. He is performing his official duties at the jail house. But, I will tell him you called."

Mrs. Smalley had been listening from the kitchen and when it sounded to her like Sydney was about to send the girl on her way without so much as a cup of tea as she had with Mrs. McGoo, Ma intervened.

"Well hello Miss Lettie! How sweet of you to stop by. Why don't you come on in to the parlor and I'll bring us all a little refreshment, we can have a nice visit."

"_Ja_, I'd like that. Perhaps Helmie can play with Matilda _vhile ve _talk?"

"Why sure," Ma agreed. "Helmut, the children are out in the back yard by the picnic table. Why don't you go tell them to come in the kitchen and you can all have some milk and cookies."

So presently Ma appeared with a tray upon which sat her good china teapot, cups and a plate of buttered nut bread.

Ma had a way of drawing conversation out of most folks. Running a boarding house for so many years, she had honed that skill. Somehow during the course of their pleasantries, Ma had worked the subject around to the first date between Lettie and the Marshal. Lettie had confessed how she had forced her sister to go shopping at Lathrop's to buy her face paint.

The girl laughed, "I _tought_, I could make myself into Miss Kitty _vit_ a little paint _und_ powder.'

Ma smiled understandingly, "I got nothing against a little rouge and powder used sparingly of course, 'specially when one gets to be my age. But a girl like you Miss Lettie, you need nothing more than a smile and a clean face to be beautiful."

Lettie blushed. "_Danka_ Mrs. Smalley, my George he _tinks_ so too."

**GS GS GS**

Sydney studied her wardrobe, her dark clothes on one small end of the tiny closet and the elaborate garments from Miss Kitty's boudoir filling every other bit of space. She should take those gowns back to the Long Branch. She realized she should never have consented to wearing them in the first place. The intimate knowledge they provided of her husband's lover was more information than she cared to know.

Sydney acknowledged, even if she had wanted to, she could never have competed with the saloon woman when she was alive and now that it was the ghost she had to deal with the task seemed all the more daunting. The upcoming nuptials of Mrs. McGoo and Mr. Hinkle had forced her to take a closer look at her wardrobe, if for no other reason than to make Matilda proud. At least that is what she told herself. For she'd given the various responsibilities of motherhood a closer inspection since that meeting with Mrs. McGoo in Lathrop's store.

Not to be completely denied was a niggling need to have Matt Dillon notice her as something other than Miss Tuttwell. He had consented to attend Mrs. McGoo's wedding. It would be their first social function as husband and wife. She understood there was plenty of speculating and a certain amount of humor at her expense regarding the nature of her relationship with Matt Dillon, although she wasn't aware of Taffey Boyd's disclosure regarding the contract.

She stood in front of the small rectangular mirror atop her dresser considering her brown suit which was certainly serviceable, the material a fine quality and workmanship quite good. But it was so plain, dull in fact compared with what other women wore. Even Mrs. Smalley and Bessie Roniger had more liveliness in their wardrobes.

There was a knock at her door. "Got some fresh towels for you," Ma announced from the other side.

Sydney opened the door and reached out to take the towels. "What are you all gussied up for at this time of day?" Ma questioned.

"Well, if you must know, I was trying to decide what to wear to Mrs. McGoo's wedding, which happens to be one week from today."

"And you settled on that?"

"Yes," she replied almost defensively.

"You know, " Ma said taking a step back, "it ain't so bad, just needs some fancying up."

"Do you have a suggestion?"

Ma studied the teacher. "Turn around, real slow, so I can get a good look at you from all sides."

Sydney did, feeling foolish.

"You need a new hat. Simple as that. A pretty bonnet will dress that drab brown right up."

"I detest hats and besides I have a hat."

"What you got ain't a hat it's a battle helmet."

"Mrs. Smalley!"

"Well it's true, most ridiculous bonnet I ever did see. A hat is supposed to be pretty. You go on down to Mrs. Dowacker's Millinery tomorrow. Take that jacket with you so's she can match up the color. Have her make up something to show you off to good advantage. Don't mind saying, it wouldn't hurt none to loosen up that bun on the back of your head a might. You got your hair pulled back so tight, no wonder you don't smile."

"Mrs. Smalley, I take umbrage at your attitude."

"Well if that means you're gonna pay attention to what I say, good. You're Matt Dillon's wife now. That means something in this town. Don't matter how you got the title, what matters is that he picked you. Let me tell you something Sydney Tuttwell. He's about as fine a man as you're ever gonna meet, wouldn't say it to his face, but it's the God's honest truth. He deserves the best you got to give."

"Well, I never!" Sydney's cheeks flamed in indignation.

Ma smiled for her words had prompted the desired reaction. There was an impish twinkle to her old blue eyes, "Well ain't nothing stopping you now MRS. Dillon, you got the marriage certificate. You know, you might find you actually enjoy it!"


	47. Chapter 47

**Forty Seven**

Grudgingly, Sydney admitted to herself that Ma had a point - about the hat that is. The next morning, with the suit jacket wrapped in a linen cloth, she made a trip to Mrs. Dowacker's Millinery.

Orva Dowacker had a rare talent when it came to designing the perfect hat for her customers. She had viewed from a distance the strange bonnet Sydney wore on occasion and it always made her cringe.

The hatmaker was in her mid forties, she'd lived in Dodge twenty-three years and had supported her four children on the earnings from her shop. There was never much reference made to Mr. Dowacker and most surmised he'd come to some sort of early tragic end. She was petite and pretty with just a hint of gray in her dark well styled hair. Orva had heard a good deal of the gossip regarding the Dillon Doctrine (which is what some of the locals had taken to calling the nuptial agreement). As in the town barbershop and the numerous saloons, Orva's was a hotbed for the rumor mongers.

Sydney entered the shop unaware of the current speculation regarding her marriage, "Good day Mrs. Dowacker. I would like a hat designed to go with my brown suit. I have brought the jacket in so you might better judge what is appropriate. I will be wearing it for Mrs. McGoo's wedding, but, the headpiece should also be serviceable for multiple occasions after that."

She offered Sydney a seat in front a long table upon which sat a large oval vanity mirror. An ornate hand mirror rested to the right of the customer, the better to view all angles of a new bonnet. Off to the sides were numerous pedestals upon which sat hats of different styles and fabrics.

Mrs. Dowacker couldn't believe her great fortune. She was a business woman. She knew once word got around that Mrs. Dillon had been in her shop, she'd have every busybody in town stopping by for the scoop. So, she set about the task of worming a little information from the town's most talked about bride.

"Let's try a few different styles shall we?" She asked cordially. "Now Miss Kitty always favored smaller hats that rested, just so atop that gorgeous red hair of hers. I assume that's what Marshal Dillon preferred. I actually have something here that I was saving for Mrs. Kitty before her unfortunate demise, it's back in the store room, it will only take a minute."

"No! Mrs. Dowacker, that will not be necessary. I prefer something of my own choosing."

Orva sighed, the school teacher was as open as a closed book. She brought out several different designs. "Hats tilt forward, bonnets tilt back, so it depends on how you plan to wear your hair."

"I shall wear my hair as it is now of course."

Orva looked doubtful, "is that the way the Marshal likes it?"

"It is the way I prefer it!"

"Then a hat is in order. Of course it will give you more height. Many women must be cautious of that, but it shouldn't be of concern to you, I don't believe I have the hat that could make you taller than Mr. Dillon." She gave a little giggle, hoping for at least a smile in return from her customer. Her only reward was a rather stern glare.

Several hats were put on and taken off as Orva tried to make conversation, "I imagine you and the Marshal and his little girl, what's her name again?"

"Our daughter is named, Matilda."

"Yes, Matilda will be looking for a home of your own soon. Something a little more private than the boarding house."

"Mrs. Smalley's is quite satisfactory."

"Oh, but don't you want a place you can decorate just as you like it. Your own kitchen to cook in?"

"I have no desire to keep house Mrs. Dowacker and I plan to return to my profession when school starts up in the fall."

"Oh", was the only reply Orva could come up with.

Finally, it was decided upon a stiff felt hat, dark beige in color, in an oval shape with an up tilted brim. "I believe I can create a headpiece you will be pleased with Mrs. Dillon, might I suggest you come back tomorrow morning."

Sydney arrived at Mrs. Dowacker's first thing the next day and was pleased to see the hat designer had completed her assignment on time.

As far as Orva was concerned, this hat was like free advertising, for every woman in town was going to go out of her way for a glimpse at it. She spared no expense or talent in the design. It was ingeniously magnificent. Mrs. Dowacker had decorated the hat in pink, brown and beige satin rosebuds, adding a hint of sage green leaves and an abundance of soft pink netting. Then she'd fashioned a matching corsage to be worn on the dull brown suit jacket, turning the drab fabric into something entirely different.

Orva felt compelled to comment one last time on Sydney's severe hairstyle. "Might I suggest," she began timidly, for frankly Mrs. Dillon scared her a little, "A few loose strands of hair to frame the face."

"I detest hair hanging in my face."

"Oh, I meant curled Mrs. Dillon, a few curls."

"My hair is straight as a stick."

"A curling iron? Or pin curls set the night before?"

"Thank you Mrs. Dowacker, I will give it some thought." She stared back at her reflection and was pleased with the result. A pretty hat did make a difference. The bonnet and corsage were placed in a hat box and Sydney left the store.

She arrived back at the boarding house in search of Matilda. She found her in the kitchen peeling potatoes as Ma worked over a large frying pan of liver and onions.

"What's ya got in the hat box Miss Tuttwell?" Matilda wanted to know, craning her neck for a better view.

"What does one usually have in a hat box Matilda?"

Matilda giggled, "A hat! Can I see?"

"Yes you _may_, I'd like your opinion on it." She glanced over at Ma, "and yours as well Mrs. Smalley." She made a move to open the box but Ma put a stop to it.

"Heavens don't open up that box in the kitchen, you'll end up reeking of liver and onions … it'll take the starch right outta that bonnet.

After supper that evening, in the confines of Sydney's room, she showed off her new hat. "Well, as Bessie Roniger would say, that there is just the ticket. Looks right pretty on you. Still think you could loosen that bun on the back of your head. But, it's a start Sydney Tuttwell, it's a start."

**Ma** had been correct about the hat, Sydney conceded. Maybe she had a point about the hairstyle as well. With that thought in mind, she made a trip to the mercantile the next day. Mrs. Gilligan was behind the counter. Now Mrs. Gilligan was friends with Mrs. Dowacker and knew all about the new hat. She'd also heard the gossip about the Marshal and his wife, some of it entirely outrageous and unbelievable. She frankly did not believe any of it. No woman with a head on her shoulders, a heart in her chest and the rest of her body parts in working order, was going to say 'no' to Matt Dillon.

She offered a friendly greeting, "Well Hello Mrs. Dillon, what can I help you find today?"

Sydney moved close to the counter, and with a lowered voice said, "I'd appreciate your advise Mrs. Gilligan. I've been using pine tar soap on Matilda's hair. It does nothing to lessen the unruliness, I'm wondering if there might be a soap you would recommend. Something with a pleasant floral scent perhaps?"

Mrs. Gilligan wasn't born yesterday and she recognized a little subterfuge when she saw it. Nothing was going to tame that child's hair and Sydney Tuttwell knew it. But, maybe the new Mrs. Dillon was looking for a little something to peak the interest of her handsome groom. Well Mrs. Gilligan would play along, she had no problem with helping romance flourish. She lead Sydney to the back corner of the store just past the cures for ladies complaint and liver ailments and the like. Along the way, Mrs. Gilligan pointed out that they had recently received a new shipment of bosom enhancers, up lifters, flatteners, corsets and girdles should Mrs. Dillon be in need of such a garment. Sydney reached out and touched one rather flirtatious corset. "Perhaps at a later date Mrs. Gilligan."

"Over here next to the ladies toiletries and behind the face paints and powders are the scented soaps and hair shampoos. The shampoos are the very latest and are so much more agreeable than using bar soap on one's hair. I find Mademoiselle de France to be most pleasant, a nice floral fragrance, it's subtle but it lasts." She unscrewed the lid so Sydney could take a sniff.

"Very nice. Very well then, on your recommendation, I'll take the soap and the shampoo." Her fingers drifted to the face powder. She glanced up at Mrs. Gilligan to see if shock registered on that lady's face, when all she saw was an encouraging smile she asked. "Would you have a suggestion regarding face powder?"

"You have a lovely complexion, might I recommend this delicate rouge and just a hint of eye kohl and perhaps an eyebrow tweezers." She picked up an implement and manipulated it in demonstration. Just pluck the hairs between and under the brow to give them shape. Not too much mind you, your aim is definition."

Sydney felt emboldened. She straightened her backbone, squared her shoulders, "I'd like a hair curling iron as well."

As the items piled up on the counter, Sydney's mind went back to the small mirror in what was now her bedroom and then she thought of all the mirrors in Kitty's dressing room. Well, she certainly didn't need a room full of looking glasses but perhaps one good full length mirror might come in handy. She inquired after Mrs. Gilligan regarding this matter and was shown a selection. Mrs. Dillon chose a plain framed model. "We'll have this delivered to the boarding house. This afternoon." Mrs. Gilligan assured her, as she tallied up the purchases. The price was a little staggering.

**Ma** was the only one home when the mirror was delivered that afternoon. Other than a raised eyebrow she kept her comments to herself. That evening after Matilda had been put to bed. Sydney Elvira began experimenting with her beauty products. The tweezing brought tears to her eyes, but the result was dramatic in softening her face and bringing her lovely eyes to prominence. She had procured Ma's copy of Ladies Companion and she studied the faces of the fashionable women depicted on the pages. When she had archived a reasonable manner of success she stood back and considered her image with a serious expression. Something was missing. She moved in closer and then it came to her and she smiled.

**On** the same day Sydney had gone hat shopping, Doc Adams had been five miles outside of Dodge, checking on Ben Stephens pregnant wife Haroldine. It was a first pregnancy and the middle aged couple were a little concerned about something going awry at this late date. Once Doc had assured them everything was on course Ben offered Doc a sip of his homemade whiskey before he headed back into town.

Haroldine went out to milk the cow, while the two men sat down on the front porch rocking chairs for a sociable drink. It was at this point that Ben told Doc what he'd heard in the Long Branch at closing time on Friday night.

Now, Doc was aware of Sydney's contract. Matt had confided in him all of the details. But finding out the news had hit the fan and was spreading faster than manure in a rain storm was another thing entirely.

"Imagine that Doc", the farmer crowed, "the Marshal can't even bed his own wife … or she could have him arrested for breaking the contract." Ben slapped his knee and downed his whiskey.

"Ben, I don't think you can believe everything you hear."

"Heard it right from Taffey Boyd, and she dun saw the paperwork and she dun saw Roman Gundrum delivering it."

"Matt Dillon is a mighty good friend of mine Ben, and I'd take it personal if I found out you were spreading this sort of gossip."

"You put it that way Doc. I won't say another word about it, but between you and me and that fence post out yonder … can't figure out why any man would sign such a paper, even if the woman in question is an old maid school marm."

That afternoon, as he was picking up a few necessities from Mr. Lathrop's he heard Edsel Pry and Orgenia Coolridge discussing the Dillon's marriage. "Heard tell, the Dillon Doctrine forbids the Marshal from even holding her hand. Imagine that!"

In fact all over town, wherever he went, folks were having a good laugh at Matt Dillon's expense and Doc Adams didn't like it one bit. Festus Hagen and Newly O'Brien were experiencing similar circumstances.

That night the three held a pow-wow in Dr. Adams office.

"It ain't right Doc … after all Matthew's dun gone through this past year, now he's got to put up with being the laughing stock a Dodge City."

"If only Taffey Boyd hadn't found out about the contract." Doc said shaking his head.

"Never did cot'n to that Miss Taffey, shifty eyed and meaner 'n a wet turkey hen."

Newly had been listening to the conversation, not saying much, finally he offered a solution. "Seems to me," he started, "the only way to quiet the gossip is to prove Taffey Boyd wrong. The Marshal and Miss Sydney are going to have to convince folks they are as much in love as any other ordinary newlyweds."

Doc looked skeptical, "And just who do you think is going to approach Mr. and Mrs. Dillon about this solution?"

Festus gave Doc a one eyeballed squint, "Why ol'Doc, it wouldn't be right fer me to talk to Matthew about this, and Newly ain't about to bring it up with him neither. No sir, you're the only one that can talk to both of them about it."

Reluctantly Dr. Adams agreed to have a talk with Matt and Sydney. Although, he didn't have the slightest idea how he would start or finish the conversation.


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter 48**

While all the gossip was flying in Dodge that week, Matt Dillon was out of town. He had been called to Pueblo, to bear witness for the State of Colorado against the outlaws captured by the Dodge City posse at Sharlow's hideout. He did his best to remain dispassionate and professional recounting the events that lead to Susan Bart's death and that of young Willie Ronniger.

The Sharlow Gang had committed many heinous acts, one of the most brutal was a stage hold up twenty miles from Pueblo, where every passenger had been savagely murdered. Two individuals had lived long enough to give an account of the incident. The small courtroom was packed with those seeking justice for the victims.

There had been a disruption after the guilty verdict had been rendered when one of Sharlow's men had pulled away from the guard. With curled lip and snarling voice, he'd vowed, "You'll pay Matt Dillon! Kingston Sharlow, won't _ferget_ what you done back there at the Roost and he won't _ferget_ what's happened to us. When he's _dun_ with you 'n _yers_, you'll wish to God, you'd never been born!" The guard jerked the man back and the shackled outlaws were hauled out of the courtroom to the heckling and jeers of those in attendance. In three days time there would be a hanging, Pueblo would find justice and the world would have four less cold blooded murderers to contend with.

Afterward, he'd sat in the office of his old friend Sheriff Floyd Rettler waiting for it to be time to head down to the train station. "Matt, don't it bother you, what he said about Sharlow getting even?"

"Floyd, I haven't met an outlaw yet who didn't vow retribution after sentence'd been passed. Have you?"

"Don't reckon I have. It's just that now you got a wife and child to think about. That makes circumstances some different."

Dillon's jaw set at a hard angle. A wife and child; this was the reason he hadn't married Kitty. A badge and family wasn't a good mix. It made you vulnerable, it made you an easy mark. His stomach knotted at the thought, but all he said was, "yup."

**GS GS GS**

He was bone weary when the train pulled into Dodge. All he wanted was a stiff drink and a little peace and quiet. He was getting too old for this. Kitty had told him, "Cowboy, there comes a point in every lawman's life when it's time to hang up the guns and take off the badge".

If Kitty were still alive … Kitty … he thought of her now and his weariness was replaced by stark longing. She'd have been there waiting for the train to pull in, waiting for him, and together they would have walked arm and arm to the Long Branch, ascended those stairs hand in hand and when the door to her room closed behind them he would have left the badge and all his troubles outside. She would have made him forget the responsibility, lifted the weight from his shoulders and brought contentment to his over burdened heart, if only for a night. In the light of morning he would have picked up the load again ready to fulfill his obligations to duty and the badge. Kitty … if she were still alive, someone else would be wearing the badge now … if she were still alive they would be a real family. A photograph never to be taken, came to his mind; Kitty, beautiful Kitty with one hand holding onto their strong willed daughter and the other clasped tightly in his own. The picture so exquisitely sweet that his eyes welled and he had to blink away the moisture. Lawmen don't cry.

He stepped down from the train and heard a familiar voice. "Bout time you got back Matthew. Ol Doc's up at Ma's awaiting fer ya, he's got something he wants to jaw with you and Miss Sydney about."

If Hagen noticed emotion in Dillon's face he didn't acknowledge it. He reached for Matt's carpet bag. "I'll tote that fer you Matthew, reckon you're plumb wore out."

There was banjo music coming from the Lady Gay. The tinny tunes of the Long Branch player piano drifted up the street, but the town seemed quiet enough for a Friday night. The Fourth of July the end of next week would change that and in another month the herds would start coming in. Business would surely pick up. Down the boardwalk, he caught sight of Newly checking doors and locks while walking toward the saloons.

It was going on Nine O'clock and the lamplighter had already made his rounds, gaslight cast shadows in the murky darkness. At Ma's he stopped to look in the front parlor window. Sydney stood looking out toward him. Even in the dim light he could see a change come over her face as their eyes met.

Festus handed Matt his carpetbag, "reckon I'll go help Newly keep an eye on things."

"You're not coming in?" Worry set in all of the sudden, "Is Matilda okay, is that why Doc needs to talk with Sydney and me?"

"Miss Mattie's fine, full of piss 'n vinegar jus' like always."

"Then what's this all about?"

"Doc'll tell ya. You just go on in now. Don't worry none about Dodge tonight, me and Newly'll see to things."

His scowl was deep-set as he tightened his grip on the carpetbag and ascended the porch steps and entered Ma's. Doc was waiting for him at the door to the parlor.

The old man asked, "Train running late?"

"Yeah. What's this all about?"

"Sit down Matt, you too Sydney." He directed as he shut the parlor door to insure their privacy.

Matt glanced at his wife. The worry, not completely assuaged by Festus, resurfaced, "Matilda's alright?"

"Doctor Adams assured me this has nothing to do with Matilda, but he wouldn't tell me what it does concern. I am as much in the dark as you."

"Doc, I don't mind saying I'm tired, and in no mood for games and riddles."

"Well, I'll get right to the point then. It seems that somehow, Miss Taffey Boyd got a hold of your marriage contract. Last Friday night at the Long Branch she told anyone who'd listen all the details. Since then the news has spread all over town, all over Ford County for that matter."

Sydney gave a gasp, "So that explains some of the looks and comments I've been receiving this past week."

Doc nodded, "To put it bluntly, you two are the talk of the town."

"How the hell did Taffey Boyd get a hold of that contract?" Matt looked pointedly at Sydney and his anger was like a pot of boiling water ready to overflow. "You showed it to her?"

"I did no such thing!" She declared indignantly.

"Well, I'm fairly certain Roman Gundrum wouldn't go around showing it off."

A red flush crept up Sydney's neck until it set her cheeks aflame. She realized what must have happened. "I left it on the hall table …"

"You did what!"

"It was only for a moment … I left it on the table and went in the kitchen with Matilda … it was just a few minutes …"

"But apparently long enough for Taffey to get a good look at the contract. Of all the stupid things to do …."

"Mr. Dillon, I did not expect anyone to disturb it on the table, and certainly did not leave it there with the intention of someone …"

He growled like a grumpy old bear, "Damn irresponsible …"

"It is hardly fair that you of all people speak to me about responsible behavior, might I remind you of your daughter conceived out of …"

"You leave Matilda out of this."

"I hardly think that possible, since she is the reason we are in this ridiculous sham of a marriage."

"I'm not the one who left papers out where anyone who wanted could read them."

Doc fidgeted and then made an effort to rein the agitated couple in. "Festus, Newly and I have been giving this some thought."

Matt slammed his hat on Ma's horsehair settee, "Well that's damn reassuring."

"There's no reason to swear." Sydney scolded.

"Well if this isn't good reason to swear I'd like to know what the hell is!"

She ignored her spouse. "Doc, did you gentlemen come up with a solution?"

"Yes, actually it was Newly who came up with an idea. You see at this point it's only Taffey Boyd's word since she's the only one who saw the Dillon Doctrine."

"The what?" Sydney's voice raised an octave.

"Dillon Doctrine … that's what folks have started to call it."

"Damn." This time it was Miss Sydney who uttered the expletive.

Matt grunted, took a deep breath and said, "Go on Doc."

"Newly figured if folks saw you two acting like there was no contract forbidding you from doing things like hand holding and showing the kind of affection newlyweds are apt to show, people would figure Taffey was just blowing hot air and eventually find something else to gossip about."

Matt shook his head, "That's all well and good … but Miss Taffey and every other member in this household knows about our separate bedrooms."

Doc tugged at his ear, "Well, I think we have a solution to that as well."

"Now wait just a minute Doctor Adams …" Sydney sputtered, her cheeks flaming up again.

Doc raised a hand in an attempt to calm Mrs. Dillon, "Just hear me out. Mr. and Mrs. Heitzer have agreed to swap rooms. They'd take all three of your rooms, that way when Herbie's in town during the school year he's got a place to sleep. You'd get their large bedroom and the sitting room where Herbie sleeps - that could be Matilda's room. They also have _two separate beds_ in their room."

Matt shoved his hand in his front pockets, "Why are Mr. and Mrs. Heitzer so eager to help?"

Doc smiled, hoping Matt and Sydney would appreciate the humor of the situation, "Seems Grandpa Heitzer snores … Grandma Heitzer says she loves him dearly but it would be a relief to sleep down the hall from him. So there you have it. Perfect solution."

Sydney fluttered her eyelids, "I hardly call it perfect."

Matt shook his head and ran his fingers though his hair. "Doc, there's gotta be another way. Maybe we can just ride this thing out."

"Maybe, but sooner or later it's going to affect Matilda. I think you'll both agree, she's got enough to deal with without adding more gossip to the mix. Seems the two of you can sacrifice a little pride for the child's sake."

"I will not compromise my principles." Sydney's nose rose toward the ceiling.

Dillon's scowl intensified, his eyes traveled up and down her body, stopping briefly at her small chest before returning his glare to her face. "I signed the contract Sydney, believe me I have no designs on your _principles_."

She crossed her arms over her breasts, "Humpf." she snorted, matching him glare for glare.

"Fine!" Doc said, as if that settled the matter. "Now … I would suggest the next time you two are together in public you engage in a little handholding, some sweet talk and as long as you're at it, a peck on the cheek wouldn't hurt none either."


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49

They each retreated to their own rooms to contemplate what Doc had so strongly suggested.

He lay atop his covers, Stetson hanging from the bedpost, as was his holster. His boots had been kicked to the floor and lay where they'd dropped. His feet clad in mismatched socks were crossed at the ankles, and his hands were clasped behind his head. He stared unblinking into the dark trying to conjure up happier memories to soften the gloom that had descended on him. That night the memories wouldn't come and he was left with the awful ache of a broken heart.

Sydney paced. Clad in her proper Victorian night gown, her bare feet padded back and forth across Ma's prized hardwood floors, her arms folded across her infuriated bosom. One phrase he'd uttered kept repeating itself in her thoughts, "your principles are safe with me."

In the morning after a taciturn breakfast where neither shared thoughts beyond, 'pass the cream', they inspected the Heitzer's rooms. The main room was larger than the two of theirs put together. Bright sunny windows over looked Ma's flower garden. The beds in the main room were a bit smaller than what they'd occupied in their old rooms, but bigger than the jailhouse cot upon which Matt Dillon had spent so many nights. There was a large wardrobe for Sydney's meager collection of clothes and overall she was pleased with the change, except of course for the fact she had to share the room with her husband.

The sitting room, where Matilda was to sleep, had white painted woodwork and a window with a window seat bracketed between floor to ceiling bookshelves. The smaller room was separated from the bedroom by chintz curtained French doors.

The move was executed that afternoon.

With her belongings in place, Sydney surveyed the room. The close proximity of the twin beds bothered her. She was above all a private person, and this was an infringement on that ideal. She glanced at the large wardrobe which stood against the wall, and an idea came to her, "I'd like the wardrobe moved so that it stands between our beds."

He shook his head. "What are you talking about? It's supposed to be against the wall." His shoulder was beginning to ache as well as a half dozen other old in-the-line-of-duty wounds to his body. "That thing weighs a ton!"

"I don't care. I want it between our beds. I demand some privacy. I have no desire to see you sprawled out on that bed first thing in the morning."

He shook his head hardly believing his ears, "… you think I can't wait to sneak a peek at you in your high necked flannel nightgown? I've seen it before Sydney, and managed to hold my desire in check."

"Mr. Dillon, you are disgusting, your mind is in the gutter!"

He actually laughed, "I wasn't the one who started this conversation seems to me your mind was in the gutter before mine was."

She stomped her feet, "Just move the wardrobe. Mr. Dillon. I will see to getting Matilda settled in."

He watched her leave with a small smile his face. He'd actually gotten the best of her on that one. The smile remained until he turned and looked at the wardrobe and realized Sydney was the winner in this situation. He eyed his adversary. It was five feet tall, five feet wide and three feet deep. Matt shook his head, and then with a grunt he put his shoulder to the piece of furniture and began pushing it across the floor. Thankfully it was fitted with casters which lessoned the work.

**GS GS GS**

Matilda loved her new room. With the book shelves there was room for her precious toys from her mother; the tea set and her doll Miss Kitty.

"We shall have to see about filling up the rest of the space on your bookshelves." Miss Tuttwell told her.

"With what? More toys? Angel Louise has a whole room filled with toys."

"Matilda, what does one usually find on book shelves?"

It was beginning to be a little joke between them, the asking and the stating of the obvious. It brought a smile to both of their faces.

"Books!" Matilda answered. "What kind of books?"

"School books, when session begins in the fall, but whatever else suits your fancy. What would you like to learn more about? There are books to take you on great adventures, or tell you about the lives of little girls long ago or far away. I have several such books and if you promise to take good care of them, I will gift them to you. We shall explore their stories together, shall we?"

"I'd like that. I don't read so good yet you know."

"You have greatly improved from the little girl I first met. I'm proud of you."

"You are?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Sometimes I'm naughty …"

Kitty Russell's daughter looked at her with soulful eyes. This child who had been through so much and had weathered each storm life tossed her way with a dignity few grownups could lay claim to. Sydney Tuttwell realized something quite amazing. She loved the little girl. She loved her as a mother loves her child. Sydney opened her arms and said simply, "Come."

**GS GS GS**

He was thankful it was Saturday night. Riding herd on Dodge was a far piece more relaxing than being in the presence of Mrs. Matt Dillon. She could make him madder faster than any female he'd ever met. It was late when he made it back to the boarding house. He took off his boots in the kitchen, helped himself to a couple cookies from the jar on the cupboard and then tiptoed up the back stairs. He almost stopped at his old bedroom door. He grimaced at the thought of climbing in bed with Grandpa Heitzer. He realized he'd get a warmer welcome there than climbing into bed with his own wife.

He walked quietly down the hall to the new bedroom. He was surprised to see she'd left a small lamp burning beside his bed. It was an unexpected thoughtful act. He hadn't seen much of Matilda amid all the chaos of the day and now he took the opportunity to view her in sleep. One of the French doors was open, he supposed in an effort to alleviate the strangeness of the new bedroom. He took the lamp and carried it to the sitting room. His daughter was curled up on her side and cradled in her arms was a book! He cast the light toward the book shelf and saw Miss Kitty the doll, still occupied the space she had earlier in the day. He wondered what book could replace the doll in his little girls arms. He took a closer look and saw the title, "Little Women." Matilda stirred and fearful he would awaken her, he moved out of the room.

Leave it to Sydney, he thought, to give Matilda a primer on women's rights. He smiled. He had no problem with his daughter growing into a woman who expected to be treated as an equal partner. Lord knows. Kitty would approve.

He returned to the bedroom and let the light shine briefly on Sydney. Just as Matilda had taken him by surprise so did his wife.

Her hair fanned around her head, her features were soft and her lips had lost their rigidity and were sensuous and full. For a brief moment he felt desire stir but true to his word, he held it in check.

**GS GS GS**

He hated going to Sunday Meeting. He'd never felt exactly comfortable in church but, since Kitty's funeral the building held only bitter memories. The smell of decaying flowers, lemon oiled pews, and naphtha scented clothing all combined to ignite memories of that horrible day he'd buried Kitty. It had been decided without so much as a 'what do you think of the idea, Matt?' that the three of them would attend Sunday service together as a family.

He grabbed his good jacket from his tiny allotment of the wardrobe. Well at least he'd fit right in with the rest of the worshipers, thanks to Ma, he smelled like mothballs too.

Sydney and Matilda were all ready waiting for him in the kitchen, along with Ma and Grandma and Grandpa Heitzer. Matilda was wearing one of the new dresses Sydney had commissioned Mrs. Helgemoe to make for her. It had been fashioned from the leftover material of one of Kitty's dresses. Sydney was wearing her gray suit with that ridiculous thing she called a hat pinned firmly atop her head. He did notice however that her hair was styled a bit freer than usual and her cheeks had a girlish glow to them. For a moment he thought she might be using face paint. Then he dismissed the idea, however the thought remained with him that she looked different - softer. The vision of her face in repose came to him again and he had to shake his head to get his thoughts straight.

They walked as a group down the boardwalk to the church. Mrs. Smalley and Mrs. Heitzer lead the pack gossiping back and forth. In the middle, Matilda holding Sydney's hand. They seemed different to him today too. He couldn't put a finger on it, but their relationship had changed. At the tail end of the procession, the tall lanky Marshal and the short squat retired farmer. "Looks like a good crop of wheat this year Marshal, long as the grasshoppers don't show up."

Mrs. Smalley and boarders took their usual pew on the left side of the church about half way up. They filed in, first Grandpa Heitzer, then Grandma, Mrs. Smalley, Matilda, Sydney and on the outside aisle the Marshal. In front of them a few pews ahead were Mrs. McGoo and Mr. Hinkle, only a day away from their own nuptial, and several pews in front of them were Cynthia Bodkin and her new husband. Seated directly behind the Marshal and Sydney was Doc Adams. Matt felt a poke in his shoulder. He turned around to give a dirty look to the offender.

Doc leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "Smile at Sydney, the whole congregation has their eyes on you."

Sydney had heard what the old man had ordered and she furrowed her brow in response. Doc gave her shoulder a prod too. "Smile at him," he whispered firmly. She turned instead to Matilda and offered the child a smile. Mrs. Helgemoe had made a small drawstring bag to go with Matilda's dress and Sydney watched as the little girl withdrew a pretty lace edged hanky that Ma had given her that morning. Matilda started to play with the fabric. Pretending, it seemed, that the hanky was a bride dressed in white.

Not liking Doc's directive but feeling he'd best get this over with or endure Doc's constant annoyance throughout the entire service. He gave Sydney's shoulder a little bump. She turned to look at him and he smiled, just as the doctor had ordered. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him. She wiggled her forefinger coaxing him closer. When his ear was in close proximity to her mouth she hissed. "Kindly get your big foot off the hem of my skirt."

The absurdity of her contrariness suddenly struck him as funny and he nearly chuckled out loud. She did a double take at his effort to rein in his humor and then she got the giggles. Matilda seeing her red-faced parents trying valiantly to stifle their laughs started giggling too, this caused Ma to turn to shush her, which only lasted until she caught sight of Matt and Sydney, both shaking with the effort to still their giggles. Mrs. Heitzer, worried that something was wrong with Ma turned to her friend and then she started tittering as well. Grandpa Heitzer, was already snoring softly and was oblivious to all. However the rest of the congregation noticed the goings on and couldn't help but smile as well.

And as Edsel Pry hit the opening chord of _Oh for a Faith that will not Shrink_, Doc Adams leaned back in his pew, satisfied that he had accomplished his mission.


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter Fifty**

Doc was invited to noon dinner and he was still chuckling as they all walked back to the boarding house. At the dinner table he sat in the chair normally occupied by Taffey Boyd, the saloon hostess generally slept till mid afternoon on Sundays. It took her that long to recover from a Long Branch Saturday night.

The church service was the main topic of conversation as Ma served roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and fresh snap peas. She sat down and after saying the blessing over the meal, began, "of course it ain't right … laughing like that right in God's presence. Can't imagine what the rest of the congregation thought of your shenanigans Mr. and Mrs. Dillon." Ma scolded.

"You were laughing right along with us." Matt countered.

From the far end of the table, Grandma Heitzer asked, "Well, what I'd like to know is what all the carrying on was about. Just so's I can explain to the good Lord when he gives me the '_what for' _at the pearly gates."

Matt caught Sydney's eyes and she snorted, coffee spraying out in front of her in a most improper manner. A silly smile flirted with his lips at the sight.

"Well?" Doc question too.

It was almost painful to keep from laughing, he spoke slowly his grin widening with each word, "I … had … my … big foot … on the hem … of her … ", and then he lost it and the whole table erupted and even the town doctor couldn't prevent the contagious laughter.

When the merriment died down, Grandpa Heitzer declared, still chuckling, "Why that ain't even funny." It was a cheerful meal, with a lot of giggles and even those every day things, like passing the rolls, or dishing up potatoes, seemed to take on a happy note.

That ended when Matt stood to excuse himself. "I have to relieve Festus at the jail house," he said getting up from the table. "Mighty fine meal Ma, thank you."

"Well, you ain't even had your dessert yet, and I made it special for you. Apple pie …"

"Sorry Ma, but maybe there will be a piece left for me in the ice box tonight?"

"Not likely." Ma advised crankily.

He laid a hand on his wife's shoulder, "Sydney, I'll see you later."

"Take care Matthew." She responded, glancing up at him with a friendly face.

A pall settled over the table as he started heading toward the door. Matilda jumped up from her chair and ran after him. "Matt Dillon." She called as his hand turned the knob on the screen door.

He stopped to look down at her, "I thought I was '_daddy'_ now."

Her blue eyes were icy, "You are when I like you."

"Oh, and when you don't I'm back to being Matt Dillon?"

"Yup."

"Well, at least that's better than doody-head."

She scowled, "That's for when I'm real mad at you."

"I'm glad you told me, it'll give me some warning." He took her hand and gently pulled her to Ma's porch swing. "Come on, Festus can wait for his dinner a little longer, sit down, tell me what's wrong."

"It's just that," disappointment edged her voice.

"What?" He prodded.

She heaved a huge sigh for one so small, "I thought we were going to spend the day together, like a family."

"Mattie, there's nothing I'd like better than to spend the day with you, but I have a job and I have to do it. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he realized it was the standard reply he'd oft given to Kitty.

She turned her back to him and folded her arms across her chest. "Humph" Their relationship balanced on a thread and he could see that precarious position begin to fray.

"Tomorrow, we'll spend the whole day together, I promise, the three of us, you and me and … your … _mother_ …"

She relaxed a might and turned to look at him, "It sounds funny to call Miss Tuttwell that."

"Yeah, but we'll get used to it." There was a rhythm to their words that kept time with the swing.

She leaned against him and fingered the ribbon of her dress, "If it was Miss Kitty you was married to, I'd call her _Mama_."

"She would have liked that." The family picture flashed his mind again. "Why didn't you call her that?"

"She told me it was better if I called her Miss Kitty, she said we were in enough trouble with the nuns as it was. But she said _someday_, I could call her Mama and no one would mind or look at us with cross-eyes."

Matt smiled, but his face had lost its humor.

Matilda continued, "I think she would have learned how to be a good mama."

"Yeah." He managed to get out. He couldn't swallow past the lump in his throat. He pulled his daughter close enough to kiss the top of her curly hair.

She turned her head back to look at his face, "when she was sick - did she ask about me?"

He shook his head, "She got sick real fast. There wasn't time for talking about important things."

"I was important."

"You are very important Mattie."

"You were there, right?" She was toying with the ribbon again.

"What?"

"When she died, you was there with her?"

He couldn't answer right away. Had there been a choice he would have talked about anything but that day, that time. "I was there, and Doc was there … Uncle Festus and Newly were there too." He shut his eyes as the death scene closed in on him. The room was crowded with people and all he wanted was to be left alone with her. But, as was the custom, everyone was standing around waiting for her to draw her last breath.

"Did she talk to Uncle Festus and Uncle Newly?"

"No, she didn't talk to anyone. Ma Smalley and Mrs. Ronniger, they were there too. Bessie just happened to be in town that day." His eyes burned with the memory. Oh Kitty, his mind reeled with the unbidden image. He'd sat next to her bed, holding her limp hand in his, thinking how cold it was, trying in vain to transfer warmth from his hands to hers and instead the deathly cold of her body invaded his own. He'd wanted to grab her in his arms and shake her back to life. He'd wanted to cry out, _'I need you Kitty, I need you, don't do this to me.'_ He'd wanted to have that last private time together. Maybe he'd have come up with all those words she'd needed him to say over the years, maybe those words would have kept her from leaving him.

The child felt his turmoil and wondered if he could sense her own, "I don't understand. Why did she have to die?"

"I don't understand either."

She'd stopped worrying the ribbon and now laid her hands on her fathers, the swing went back and forth a few times before she asked, "Does she have a pretty fence like Willie does and flowers too? Will you take me to where she's buried?"

He hadn't been to see her grave in weeks. A wave of guilt floated through him. He nodded, "I'll take you."

She smiled, "We can bring some flowers, bet she'd like that, Daddy."

"She would." Kitty always liked to get flowers, and he wished he'd thought to do it more often while she was alive. "One day, you and I will go visit her grave."

He kissed the top of her curly head again, so thankful that at least he had their daughter. His throat ached from unspent emotion. He gave her a squeeze and then stood up leaving the swing swaying in his wake. He left her sitting there and walked with unfaltering stride to the jailhouse and the duty his badge demanded.


	51. Chapter 51

**Fifty-one**

It was only the reoccurrence of a dream, even in sleep he knew that. Knowing too, the path would travel from utter joy to macabre despair in the length of its course. In the deepest dark of night, Matt Dillon let the vision give life to his grief.

The brightness of the image cast a golden glow in his mind. He saw them together, he and she, haloed by a tender light. They shared her bed and when morning came they dined on doughnuts and coffee snitched from the batch brought in for the early morning Long Branch crowd. They laughed and giggled like teenagers for today was the day they would tell the world their plan to marry. They imagined the look and reactions of their friends. And then, bellies sated with doughnuts, another hunger stirred and they tumbled back to bed to make love - oh sweet true love, the like of which knows not the tick of time, nor the passage of hands around the clock face.

He left her then, still warm and naked in her bed, hair tousled, lips red from his kisses and deep blue eyes like liquid pools that promised him a lifetime. Little did he realize on that morning, a lifetime does not mean forever. "See you later Matt," she told him as he gave her a last kiss good-bye.

In a heartbeat the golden glow was shrouded by dark and sinister storm clouds. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed. Gladness turned incubus as the door to his office blew open. Festus appeared looking haggard and old, rain dripped like blood from his clothes, his voice was ragged and strained, "Doc says you need to get to the Long Branch fast. It's Miss Kitty."

He pushed past Hagen. Kitty. The name pounded in his brain and he ran and ran but he moved nary an inch forward. _Kitty, I need you Kitty. _He strained to make his legs move faster_. _His heart hammered in his chest with the effort to get to her. The rain fell like sheets, his feet mired in the mud. In front of him, a lightning arrow struck. Thunder shook the earth, buildings quaked and fell, his world collapsed around him.

With no warning, the sequence of the dream shifted, blurred images took ghostly forms. Faces materialized that he knew were long dead. Waiting at the bottom of the Long Branch stairs, were both villain and friend.

Without taking a step, the door to her room opened. Woeful wails and dark shadows cloaked the interior of that once happy sanctuary. In place of her bed was a casket. She lay there, eyes open, yet unseeing. Her beloved features fixed with an unnatural smile. Resting in her lifeless hands, a dead red rose, and everywhere was the stench of decaying funeral flowers. Standing beside him, Doc was talking, uttering useless phrases he didn't understand, medical jargon that was meaningless all but the final word, "dead," He fell to his knees and cried, "No."

He pulled himself up using the coffin as support and stared into her face, into her dead open eyes. "No", he ran from the room. In the street, thunder boomed and lighting flashed and rain like blood flowed. And he cried, "no, no no."


	52. Chapter 52

**FIFTY TWO**

Ma had given everyone fair warning that night. "Be sure you close your windows before you go to bed. Don't want my good wood floors getting' ruined. It's gonna rain tonight for sure, mark my words."

Her prediction proved true. The thunder boomed and rattled the windows of the bedroom formerly occupied by Grandma and Grandpa Heitzer. Sydney wrapped her pillow around her head to muffle the noise. She hated thunderstorms. Of course she understood the scientific principals behind them, her father had made certain of that. But every thunder boom echoed the cannon roar, and lighting bolt the flash of gunpowder before it hit it's mark. She was ten years old, that hot July of1863, when she and her father traveled to Pennsylvania where he was to give a series of lectures at the Gettysburg College. She blocked out the horrors that came to mind and instead forced herself to concentrate on conjugating Latin verbs, _'amo, amare servo, servare, neco, necare, deleo, delere, moneo, monere, moveo, movere_.' It had been her father's solution to a restless night, and now it was hers as well.

Earlier she'd checked on Matilda, the little girl was fast asleep, curled up in her bed like a kitten in a basket, book and her doll beside her. Sydney had taken a look at Matt Dillon as well, He had appeared restless in his sleep. She heard him moan, not as one in pain, but a low erotic sound that stirred her core. She wondered briefly what he was dreaming about and then decided it was better not to know.

The pillow did little to muffle the sounds of the storm. The rain pelted the roof making a rapid rat-a-tat sound. The wind howled through the trees. And every so often lighting lit the sky turning the room daylight bright and of course the thunder, rumbling, grumbling and booming by turn.

She grew bored of the Latin verbs. She soon determined that with the window closed it was too warm to lay in bed with a down pillow wrapped around one's head. She was hot and restless, were she in her own room, alone, she would have lit the lamp and read for a while. She debated the thought of going down to the kitchen. It was sure to be cooler there, and perhaps she could even sit out on the back porch to enjoy the breeze and not get rained on. Finally, she got out of bed retrieved the book she'd been reading from her nightstand, grabbed her wrapper and made for the door.

She didn't glance at Dillon, but hurried on past his bed, it was as her hand rested on the knob that she heard him say. "No!"

She frowned, what did he think he was doing, telling her 'no'. She would darn well do as she wished. She swung around to give him 'what for.'

"NO , no, no … " he repeated the word over and again. Recognizing the pain in his voice, she realized he wasn't talking to her. With some trepidation, she took a step closer to study him.

A burst of lightning illuminated the room and she saw sweat glistening from his brow. His covers were tangled and his pillows tossed to the floor. She moved closer and could see anguish etched deep in his features. "Matthew." She said in a hoarse whisper.

Her voice alone didn't have the power to reach through his nightmare so she moved to his bed, bending over to touch his shoulder. "Matthew," she said louder this time. His nightshirt was damp to the touch, and she wondered briefly if his fever and delirium had returned.

She reached for his other shoulder and gave him a shake. "Wake up." She encouraged.

He did so with a start, instinctively grabbing the presumed attacker and rolling her over, pinning her against the mattress with the weight of his body.

"Matthew!" She said again, keeping her voice low. "It's me, Sydney, you're having a bad dream. Wake up now."

He opened his eyes to hers, but it took a moment before they focused. Finally he said, "Sydney?"

"Yes, let me up."

He shifted his weight some and asked in a gravelly voice, "What are you doing here?"

"Just let me up."

He rolled off of her, and moved stiffly, to sit on the edge of his bed. He looked around him as if suddenly lost. "Where am I?"

"In our bedroom at Ma Smalley's," She said as she hastily scrambled from the bed and righted her nightgown. She took a deep breath and forced her pounding heart to quiet. Her hands not quite steady, she poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on his nightstand. "Here, take a sip," she encouraged holding it out to him.

He had propped his elbows on his knees, resting his forehead in his hands, trying to orient nightmare from reality. After several moments he straightened his spine, did as she requested and took a drink of the tepid water. "It was just a dream…" he said, more to himself than her. He backhanded the water and sweat from his face and looked at her, "I didn't know it was you."

"No harm. Do you want talk about it?" She asked.

He shook his head no. He took another drink from the glass wishing for something stronger than well water.

There was concern in Sydney's voice. "You might find it helps to talk?"

He ran his fingers across his eyes, and sat quiet, not sure that he could trust her with this. He released an unsteady sigh. "Matilda asked me about the day Kitty died. Guess it kind of stirred things …"

She picked up his pillows from the floor, fluffed them and set them on his bed. Then proceeded to straighten out his tangled sheets, "Matilda told me about the talk the two of you had," she said as she worked.

"Who would have thought," he mumbled, his mind still in disarray.

"Thought what, Matt?" She encouraged.

"She'd die before me? All the times I've been used for target practice … What sense does that make? One minute I'm holding her in my arms and the next I'm burying her … "

Sydney sat down on the bed next to him, shoulder to shoulder, "Surely you are aware, a lot of circumstances in life don't make sense. Those are the things you must let go of. If you don't it'll drive you insane."

He nodded his head in affirmation, "I keep thinking of the 'what if's. What if I hadn't left her that day? If I'd come back to her sooner, what if …"

She reached for his hand resting upon his knee, "Matt, don't do this to yourself. I've heard Dr. Adams say there was nothing anyone could have done to save her. What you must remember is she didn't suffer and she wasn't left disabled … a cerebral hemorrhage …"

"I wouldn't have cared, at least she would have been alive."

"Oh, but Kitty Russell would have cared … "

His head hung low, "Yeah …" he agreed heavily.

"Here take another drink of water, I'm going to get you a dry nightshirt." She rose from the bed and moved to his dresser with her back to him.

"Which drawer does Ma put your bed clothes in?"

"Middle drawer." He studied the glass in his hands. "Matilda wants to see Kitty's grave."

Sydney pulled a garment from the drawer and retuned to his side, handing it to him, "It's only natural that she would."

"Thing is."

"What?"

"I don't know if, if I can go back there with Matilda."

It was public knowledge, he'd made frequent trips to the cemetery in the early days of her passing and Sydney was frankly surprised to hear his hesitancy, "Why not?" She asked.

"I'm not sure." Dear God, he needed a stiff drink. He thought of asking Sydney to bring him the sipping whiskey he had stashed in the bottom drawer of his dresser, but quickly decided against it, certain she wouldn't approve or understand. "Taking Matilda and showing her where her ... mother is buried …" He choked up, unable to finish the sentence.

She was quiet for a moment, giving them both time, "Perhaps, before you thought of Kitty's death as a dream, a nightmare you'd wake up from, showing Matilda the grave somehow makes it undeniably true."

"Maybe," he admitted. Kitty's headstone came to mind, void as it was of any poetic sayings, Psalms or fancy engravings. Perhaps that deficiency was the result of denial on his part as well.

"Would it help if I came with you to the cemetery, if we went as a … a _family_?"

Matt Dillon had never been a deep thinker where his emotions were concerned. He hated now, talking about this, laying bare something so private. He was a man used to being in charge but since the day Kitty had died he'd been losing control bit by bit. Now, he felt vulnerable and exposed. Moreover, he still wasn't sure he could trust Sydney, especially with something as private as his feelings for Kitty. But, he knew it would be easier to take Matilda to the gravesite with his wife at his side. "Yeah." he finally replied.

The storm was over and moonlight appeared. Sydney opened the windows and a cooling breeze wafted through the room. "We'd best get some sleep. Mrs. McGoo's wedding is less than twelve hours away and if we look as though we've been up all night, the tongues will start wagging."

The gloom lifted a bit from his heart, "Now that would fit right in with Doc's plan. Good night Sydney or maybe I should say good morning."

"Change into that dry shirt before you go back to bed." She actually smiled at him before she walked around to the other side of the wardrobe and climbed into her own bed, feeling suddenly very weary.

She lay in bed listening, and thought she could hear him stripping off the sweaty shirt. His mattress squeaked as he lay back down. She had just closed her eyes when she heard his voice, "Sydney?"

"What is it Matt?"

"Thanks."


	53. Chapter 53

**Fifty-Three**

Atop the large clear glass pane rested an intricate beveled glass window. Rays of sunlight danced through the cut glass, sending a kaleidoscope of colors to settle just above her nose. Reluctantly, Matilda squinted her eyes awake. It took a beat or two before she remembered the significance of the day. Emily was coming and Mrs. McGoo and Mr. Hinkle were getting married. The thought of Mrs. McGoo made her smile and she actually wondered for a few seconds what life would have been like had her father married that particular lady. She settled on the fact quite happily that she was pleased he had married Miss Tuttwell instead. It was a good thing, she reasoned that all three of them were learning about family life as beginners. As for Emily, she was infinitely happy for her friend. She knew Emily would receive love enough to make up for the orphanage years. Mrs. McGoo and Mr. Hinkle would see to that.

Matilda stretched a bit lazily and then popped up from her bed with a burst of energy. Laid out on the window seat, were the clothes she was to wear to the wedding right down to slip and underwear. She vaguely recalled something about not putting these garments on until she was told to do so. Matilda decided that didn't make any sense and she certainly didn't need help getting dressed. So without much ado, she donned the white stockings, frilly petticoat and pretty dress.

She very quietly opened one of the French doors that led to her father and Miss Tuttwell's bedroom. She was relieved to see Miss Tuttwell still asleep. She lay in bed stick straight, like the tin soldiers Herbie Heitzer played with. Matilda tiptoed into the room, past the sleeping teacher, past the wardrobe to where her father lay sprawled out face down on his bed. One long hairy leg and both of his arms had escaped the confines of blanket. A pillow had been tossed to the floor while his head rested on the remaining pillow which had been mercilessly punched into submission.

Mattie tiptoed past her father and fled the room with due haste.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Smalley was busy working on the breakfast meal. She was stirring a pot of oatmeal and beating eggs by turn.

"Morning Ma." She greeted to the back side of the old lady. "Got anything to eat?"

"Morning back to you Miss Matilda." Not turning around, Ma said, "Muffins on the table, jelly in the pot. Help yourself, but mind, don't make no mess, I ain't got time for it this morning."

Matilda climbed on the chair and sat on her knees, her butt resting on her heels. She reached across the table for the basket of muffins and unknowingly got her arm in the jelly pot. Her elbow carried a large blob of grape jelly to the skirt of her dress, as she kneeled back down to butter the biscuit. It wasn't until a large glob of jelly dripped from the biscuit to her lap that she saw the mess she'd already made of the dress.

"Oh-oh" she gasped under her breath. She quickly reached for one of Ma's red checked napkins and tried to clean up the jelly, and by the time Matilda's '_oh-oh'_ registered on Ma's brain the mess had spread to a considerable size.

"Oh good heavens! Matilda what did I just finish telling you and why, for heaven's sake are you in your good weddin' clothes?"

Matilda sighed as Ma pushed her hand away to inspect the stains. "I didn't mean to make a mess and I wanted to be all ready to meet Emily at the train station this morning."

"Stand up." Ma ordered. She began undoing the buttons. "Hold your arms up." Matilda did as she was told and Mrs. Smalley pulled the dress over her head.

Mrs. Smalley inspected the damage and then spoke. "Matilda it's already been decided you will see your friend at the church this afternoon." Ma's expression softened as she saw disappointment register on the little girl's face. "Now run up stairs, get out of those white stockings before you put a hole in the knee, take off the good petticoat too, put on an everyday dress … while I try to get the stain out of this one, and then come back down. I'll let you help me beat the eggs for breakfast."

Upstairs, Matilda tiptoed past Matt who was still asleep, but Sydney on her side of the divide, was already gowned in an everyday dress and ready to go down to breakfast.

Seeing the disheveled state of her step-daughter, Sydney's eyes raised in surprise. She put a finger to her lips and pointed to Matilda's room with the forefinger of the opposite hand.

Once in Matilda's room with the door shut, Sydney asked, "What are you doing, going about the house in nothing but your good petticoat?"

"I wanted to be all dressed so we could meet Emily on the train."

Sydney glanced to the window seat and saw none of the garments laid out the night before still there, "And where is your new dress now?"

Matilda licked at her sticky lips and retrieved a muffin crumb with her tongue, "Ma's trying to scrub out the jelly."

Sydney shook her head, "Matilda, we discussed that Mrs. McGoo wants to meet Emily without a big crowd of people."

"But, I'm not a crowd, I'm just a little girl."

"I understand how eager you are to see Emily. But, this afternoon will be soon enough. Come, I'll help you get changed." That's what Matilda liked about Miss Tuttwell. She never got over excited about things like Ma Smalley or Sister Regina did. When Matilda was in her plain clothes, she and Miss Tuttwell tiptoed back out of the room, leaving Matt Dillon to enjoy the luxury of sleeping in.

As the two walked down the hall, Matilda said, "Miss Tuttwell?"

"What is it Matilda?"

"I don't want to call you Miss Tuttwell anymore."

"Why not?" They stopped at the little room on the upper landing of the back stairs where Ma had her sewing machine.

"You're more than Miss Tuttwell … and besides that isn't even your name anymore … and it would be pretty silly to call you Mrs. Dillon."

"I agree, that would be silly."

"I was thinking too, it might be hard for Emily to call Mrs. McGoo, _Mama_, but if I'm already calling you _Mama_, well … maybe that would make it easier for Emily."

"I see. So, you will be calling me Mama?"

Matilda sighed, still at odds with her decision. "I'm not sure … If I called you Ma, well, that might confuse Mrs. Smalley. But Mama sounds kind of like a baby, n' I'm not a baby."

"No, you are definitely not a baby." Sydney thought a moment and then put her hand around Matilda's shoulder. "You could call me", she hesitated for a moment, " … mother …"

"Mother." Matilda tried it on for size. It fit Miss Tuttwell.

"I been calling Matt Dillon, '_Daddy_.'

"I know. I like that better than Doodyhead."

"Did you call your father, Daddy?"

She shook her head, "No, I called him Sir."

**GS GS GS**

He awoke when the door closed behind them. For a moment he felt disoriented again, like he had in the middle of the night waking up from his nightmare. He stretched out his right arm, hoping to come in contact with the warm form of a curvaceous redhead. There was nothing there, and the void hit him hard. The night's events returned to his memory. He felt the familiar melancholy settle in, mixed with embarrassed for showing weakness in front of Sydney. The memory struck him with some surprise. She'd been kind to him. Her presence had formed a refuge in his sea of grief. The burden of his heartache lessened a bit as he realized a load shared bears half the weight.

**GS GS GS**

Dressed in black trousers, old tweed jacket, white shirt and black string tie, good boots polished and hair slicked, Matt Dillon was ready for the social occasion. He glanced at his reflection in the front hall mirror. He smiled wryly, thinking this could have been his own wedding to Mrs. McGoo, that he had dressed for. What a match that would have been. He'd never have gone hungry, that's for sure and no doubt Matilda would have learned to be a fine wife and mother from a master. He had a feeling he wanted more for the daughter of Kitty Russell. Sydney Tuttwell was the right choice for Matilda and maybe she was the right choice for him as well. What a shock that idea was. He gave his head a shake just to settle his thoughts.

What was keeping them, he wondered. He paced back and forth in the front hall waiting for their appearance. He'd been banned from the bedroom as the two of them primped for the wedding. He'd seen Sydney's brown suit hanging out on the airing porch that morning, so he figured that was what she was going to be wearing. He'd never known her to take longer than fifteen minutes to be dressed and ready to go. Unlike Kitty, who would prepare for an evening out four hours before the designated time and still be late.

Finally Matilda came bounding down the stairs. "How do I look Daddy?" She asked. The title still sucked his breath away, as did the sight of the little girl looking so pretty and so very much like her mother."

"Miss Matilda, I think you look beautiful."

"I dribbled jelly on my dress, but Ma got most of it out. She said I should hold my flower basket, just so …," she demonstrated, "to cover up the spot she couldn't get out. Do you think that will be okay, Daddy?" She smiled at him and the void left his heart.

"Yeah, I think that will be fine."

"_Mother_ … will be coming down in a little bit. She's just pinning her hat in place."

"So it's Mother and Daddy now." He raised an eyebrow.

"Yup, I figured since we're a family that's what I should call you and Miss Tuttwell, I mean Mother." A worried frown suddenly crossed her features. "Do you think that would be alright with Miss Kitty?"

He nodded, "I think that's the way she planned it."

They heard footsteps coming down the hall and Matt prepared himself for the sight of Sydney in her drab brown suit and battle helmet hat, but the sight that met his eyes at the top of the stairs brought a heat to his face that hadn't been there for a long time.

The unexpected sight of a very pretty Sydney quickened the beat of his heart. Her lips were red, not alarmingly so, but soft and full and her cheeks were accented by a natural pink glow. She'd done something with her hair as well, tendrils framed her face and atop her head was the prettiest hat he'd ever seen. He couldn't help himself, he whistled.

She blushed and then composed herself. "Might I take that to mean you approve of my new hat?"

His face had turned a bit ruddy, "You make that new hat look mighty good."

They hurried off to the church where already a large crowd had gathered. Matilda at a trot pulling them both in an effort to get there quicker. She was the first to spy Emily.

The little girl, an inch shorter than Matilda, waif thin with sparse blond hair and blue eyes too large for her tiny face was standing beside Mrs. McGoo looking very lost. "Emily! Emily!" Matilda called as she broke away from Matt and Sydney to run to her friend. The two little girls embraced.

Emily squinting her eyes, searching the face of the other child, "Mattie, they told me you'd be here. I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too Emily, you'll like Mrs. McGoo and Mr. Hinkle and you and I can play together and go to school together. It will be just like it used to be except a lot better. Because, we each have a family now, just like the children we used to see at Lake Ponchartrain."

The two little girls walked down the aisle throwing flower petals from two identical baskets and in due course Mr. Hinkle and Mrs. McGoo were united in marriage. It was as they were heading out of church to descend to the basement for the reception that Festus came bursting into the narthex. He pushed through the crowd to where Matt and Sydney, along with Doc Adams and Ma Smalley, were waiting in line to offer congratulations to the newlyweds. He was out of breath, "Matthew! There's trouble at the Lousy R. A couple hands were beat up and some cattle was took. It looks like them Sharlows are at it again."

Marshal Dillon took a deep breathe and then shrugged his shoulders and glanced at his bride with a look of helpless supplication, "I'm sorry Sydney, it's the job," he said.

Eyes and ears were suddenly focused on them, waiting for some sign to verify the status of their relationship. Edsel Pry, Orgenia Coolridge and Mrs. Gilligan actually stopped talking to give the Dillons their complete attention. Matt Dillon didn't disappoint, he turned to Adams and requested, "Doc can you see my girls home?"

The old physician responded, "be honored to."

However, it was Sydney who surprised them all, including her husband, for she said, "Matthew … Matt … "

He turned to look at her. She stepped forward, raised to tiptoe and kissed him. Not on the cheek as Adams had suggested, but full and moist on the lips. The contact was less than a heartbeat. When she stepped back she said softly, but loud enough for those around them to hear. "Please, do be careful."

Their eyes met and held, a small jolt of electricity seemed to pass from one to the other. No one there would have declared that the display was meaningless, least of all the participants of the act.


	54. Chapter 54

FIFTY-FOUR

The reception line was slow moving, for each guest wanted to give best wishes to the new couple. Those waiting in turn had to look elsewhere for their amusement.

Thus it was for the aforementioned trio of ladies waiting in line. Miss Orgenia Coolridge measured five feet nothing, even balanced as she was on tiptoe with her daffodil adorned bonnet bobbing precariously atop her head. On her left stood Miss Edsel Pry, eyeballs bulging, mouth agape, and to her right, Mrs. Amos Gilligan, who was at that particular instant suffering from heart palpitations. Their reaction in direct result to the spontaneous display of affection between Marshal and Mrs. Dillon in the church narthex.

"Would you look at that!" Miss Pry exclaimed with a breathy voice.

"Sometimes all it takes is a little French toilet water." Mrs. Gilligan pronounced as her erratic pulse began to right itself.

"Oh my." sputtered Miss Coolridge in a child high voice. A hot flash inched it's way up her neck. "Oh my." She glanced at her lady friends. "You don't suppose …"

"Suppose what Orgenia?" Miss Pry asked with barely disguised impatience. They'd known each other thirty years, but Edsel Pry had little tolerance for her companion. Miss Coolridge jumped from subject to subject like a fickle flea, generally, never sticking long enough to work up a good itch.

"You don't suppose, that they've con …" She swallowed hard and then lowered her voice to a whisper. The other two ladies had to bend their frames to hear what the shorter woman was saying. "Con-sum-mat-ed their marriage."

"Good heavens Orgenia, it's none of our concern if they have or haven't!" Edsel blurted more annoyed than shocked.

Orgenia dug in her heels, "But, after all the talk about a contract …"

Mrs. Gilligan smiled with the self assurance of one who knows the secret joys of marital bliss. "Talk, that's all it was … just prattle from a sore loser."

Orgenia was still staring ahead, a somewhat dreamy expression had fallen upon her countenance. She heaved a huge sigh. "Just imagine … with Marshal Dillon … sooo handsome … sooo big … so looong and **ha**aa**rd**…"

"Orgenia!" Edsel and Mrs. Gilligan declared in unison. "We're in church!"

Orgenia was drawn back from her daydream and her flush depended when she realized what her words implied. She hastily corrected her statement. "I mean, he's very tall isn't he? Broad shoulders, and quite muscular."

The other two ladies had whipped out their fancy work embroidered hankies and were busy fanning themselves as images of Orgenia's daydream materialized in their own imaginations.

**GS GS GS**

Cynthia Bodkin had told the two little girls to go on down to the church basement, knowing the reception line was no place for the restless children.

The brick and mortar church was newly built and offered the latest in modern conveniences including indoor plumbing and hot and cold running water. The basement had served as an infirmary the previous spring when a tornado hit East of town. At one end of the room was a fully appointed enclosed kitchen and at the other end, a small stage with green velvet drapes.

Mrs. McGoo's Prudence and Mr. Hinkle's Mose were putting the final touches on the buffet table when Matilda and Emily came running down the stairs. Prudence had been working for the past week preparing food, but there were also dishes that had been brought by friends and the Ladies Aid Society. On a table dressed in lace, and off to the side was a large three tiered wedding cake from Krump's Bakeria.

"Hi Miss Prudy." Matilda called, seeing her old friend. "Have you got something Emily and I can eat, being a flower girl makes us hungry?"

Prudence took in the sight of the little friends, noting the crisp newness of Emily's dress and the limp droop of Matilda's grape jelly stained frock. There was a plate of buttered sugar sandwiches and Prudence handed one to each child. "Here you go, why don't you take these and go have a seat on the stage until everyone gets down here."

"Okay." Matilda said agreeably. "Come on Emily. I'll tell you all about Dodge City."

The two sat with their feet daggling over the edge of the stage. "My daddy is the Marshal in Dodge City." Matilda began, her chest puffed out in pride.

Emily nodded. She took a nibble of her sugared bread, before asking, "What's a Marshal?"

"He shoots the bad guys and takes them to jail. He's the most important man there is in Dodge City, most likely in all of Kansas, maybe even in the whole United States." Matilda stated.

Emily took another mouse sized bite. She was frowning, "But, where's Miss Kitty … I thought you were going to live with Miss Kitty?"

Matilda looked away. "Miss Kitty's dead."

"Dead?"

"Uh-huh. My daddy married Miss Tuttwell. She's a school teacher, but she's nice. She's my mother now. Like I said Emily, my daddy is about the most important man there is. Lots of times he has to go chase bad guys, or talk with the Governor, or the judge, but he said he was going to spend the whole day today with us. I'm more important to him than any of those other things."

It was at this point in the conversation that another little girl made her way to the stage. Angel Louise Bodkin stood still as a little rat in a fancy frilled dress and black patent leather shoes. "I don't think that's going to happen. I just saw Marshal Dillon leaving with the deputy. Guess you're not so important after all Tillie." Angel lifted her chin a little. "Emily, Mrs. Hinkle wants you to come over with the rest of the family." As sweet as pie, Angel Louise took the smaller girl's hand, helping her from the stage before leading her to the bridal party. Leaving Matilda to sit alone.

She watched crestfallen as Angel Louise guided Emily over to the newlyweds and family. Matilda felt loneliness settle in on her. The feeling of being an outsider again became the cloak she wore.

She saw Sydney and Doc had entered the basement. Her step-mother motioned her over. She jumped down from the stage and walked sullenly to her own family.

Doc gave her a careful eye. "Why the long face?" he asked.

She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, "Can we go now?" She asked.

Sydney took a moment to adjust the satin ribbon in Matilda's hair, "After the refreshments have been served. You are becoming an excellent flower girl Matilda, your father and I are proud of you."

"He wasn't proud enough to stick around and spend the day with me like he said he was going to."

Sydney felt the pang of Matilda's unhappiness, for it was one she'd experienced herself as a child. "Your father was unexpectedly called out of town on business. We are left to our own devices. Perhaps we can find something else to do this afternoon."

Matilda nodded and then gave a longing look at Emily. Her friend had a smile on her face and was basking in the love of a family who wanted nothing more than her happiness. She was glad for Emily, but admittedly a little jealous too.

She was quiet for the remainder of the reception, hardly saying a word to anyone. Emily sat at the head table between Mr. and Mrs. Hinkle. And Kitty Russell's daughter was confined to the company of Sydney, Doc and Ma.

As they walked back to the boarding house, Doc said. "Plenty of good food, but you didn't eat much Miss Matilda."

"Wasn't hungry." She replied without any enthusiasm.

Sydney laid a hand lightly on Matilda's head. "What's wrong?"

"Matt Dillon promised."

"Promised what?"

She mumbled under her breath, "Dumb Doodyhead …" and then spoke a little louder, "that we'd spend the whole day together … fibs … just fibs … gown-ups will tell a little kid anything just to shut them up …"

Sydney's voice was firm, "Matilda Dillon, that's just enough! As long as he's a Marshal, his badge comes first. He has an obligation to uphold the law."

"Obligation? That means something you have to do?"

"Yes Matilda. He has sworn to uphold the law, it's his duty."

"Doesn't he have an obligation to us too?

"He loves you Matilda but the badge comes first. Many people depend on him to protect them."

"Humpf …" She had worked herself into a scowl that matched her father's when in a similar frame of mind.

Doc nodded, "It's true, why without your father's hard work and sacrifice, Dodge City wouldn't be here today. I tell you what …"

Matilda sighed. "What?"

"How 'bout if I take you and Miss Sydney fishing … why I know a spot on the Arkansas where all the fish are just lined up and waiting to be caught."

**GS GS GS**

Matt Dillon had rushed back to the boarding house to change clothes while Festus saddled the buckskin and prepared their saddlebags. They were off less than twenty minutes later.

It was a ninety minute ride out to the Lousy R, plenty of time to ponder the Sharlow gang and what their return might mean to Ford County. However, it was that kiss Sydney Tuttwell had presented him with that occupied his thoughts. He admitted he was confused. For the briefest of moments he had wanted to pull her flush in his arms and do the job proper justice. Even thinking of it set his pulse to a racing that had nothing to do with chasing the bad guys. With due haste he reminded himself that Sydney was only performing as Doc had directed. It was after all staged, just an act to keep busy-bodies off track from the reality of their marriage and the contract he'd signed.

Still the truth was, she'd been full of surprises of late. Her kindness and compassion the previous night had been a genuine offer of friendship. She hadn't made him feel foolish, or less of a man for the nightmare and the toll it took on him emotionally. Then this morning, seeing her come down the stairs, with that hat sitting saucily on her head and the pretty hues of the corsage adding color to her face and softening her features. Standing next to her in the pew he could almost forget the recent images that had made the sanctity of church so unbearable to him. For the first time in recent memory it wasn't the stink of rotted funeral flowers that assailed his olfactory sense, but the fresh scent of French toilet water that tickled his arousal.

**GS GS GS**

The Lousy R was run by a widow named Lydia Burrcock. Her husband Hank had passed away a dozen years earlier, since that time old Lydia had made the ranch profitable. She ran a tough operation and not many men considered themselves equal to the task of giving her any grief. Matt Dillon wondered now, if Sharlow and his men were planning on trying the same tactics they'd used to bring down Susan Barts.

Lydia might prove a tougher challenge. He saw her as they rode into the ranch yard. She was sitting on the top rail of the corral watching as her ranch hands were breaking in a string of green cow ponies. She looked up and waved him over.

Jumping spryly from the rail, she was on her feet by the time he and Festus pulled their horses to a stop. Lydia was 59 years old, nearly six feet tall, with tanned skin and steel gray hair pulled off her face in a tight ponytail. She had striking blue eyes that gentled the look of her wizened features. She was dressed in a white starched shirt and dungarees that fit snug to her curves. In a voice that reflected her Ozark upbringing she greeted, "Marshal, I sent Wade off to Dodge to tell you there was no need to come."

"Didn't see him Lydia, what's going on here? Walt Hughes came riding into town claiming the Sharlows are back. We heard you're missing some cattle and a couple of your hands were roughed up."

She shook her head and laughed, "Joe and Ricky were out in the west pasture, cullin' the herd some. Seems they took a few bottles of Gold Barrel out there and ended up in a fight. They roughed each other up, a few cows got nervous and took to the hills during the commotion. The boys 'fessed up to their tomfoolery when they sobered up some."

"You sure that's all it was?" His eyes looked at her hard.

"Matt you know them two, pushing forty both of 'em but they still act like worthless youngin's when they get themselves lickered up. I should give 'em both the sack, for what they put me through. But, after all these years, it don't seem right to set them loose without me around to mother hen 'em. Come on up to the house. Miss Hattie's been baking, and there's roast beef left from last night's supper. Can't send you all the way back to Dodge without something to eat first."

"That's sounds right larip'n' Miss Lydia." Festus said, nearly drooling at the prospect.

"Lydia, we don't want to put you to any trouble, and I do want to talk with Joe and Ricky."

"No trouble Matt, besides I want to hear about your little girl and that new bride you got yourself hitched to. You can talk with those shiftless cowhands of mine after we've filled that empty hole in your belly."

**GS GS GS**

It was a new sensation. There had been quite a few admiring glances sent her way and Sydney was woman enough to admit she enjoyed the positive scrutiny. She was also woman enough to admit that she liked standing next to Matt Dillon for all to see that she was his wife. A sense of possessiveness was taking root. He was her husband and the knowledge of all that word implied brought with it excitement and anticipation. Perhaps it was for this reason that she had taken Doc's suggestion and elaborated on it until it became a full blown kiss for all of Dodge City to observe. She had laid her brand on Matt Dillon. She blushed at the thought of her brazen behavior. A month ago, she would never have imagined herself capable of such an act. A month ago, she wouldn't have even known how to give a man a kiss like that. It had all come about quite instinctively. And, my goodness, it had felt wonderful. A hint of self doubt crept upon her. Had it seemed foolish to him? Had her attempt come across as enept and juvenile? Her embarrassment reddened her cheeks. Oh, if he thought of her as foolish, she could never look him in the eye again.

Beside her Matilda sat trying to get her attention. "Mother." she said, and then a little louder, "MOther." and then finally, "MISS TUTTWELL!"

Sydney jumped, "What is it Matilda?"

"You had a fish on your hook, but he got away." The three of them were sitting on the grassy bank of the river.

"Something ailing you Sydney?" Doc asked, removing his glasses and squinting to get a better look at her.

She stared straight ahead, not giving him the chance to look in her eyes, "Just fine Doctor Adams, thank you for asking."

Dr. Adams noted the flush that appeared on her face. He made a quick but accurate diagnosis. The old man smiled to himself smugly as he baited his hook and cast his line in the Arkansas.


	55. Chapter 55

Fifty-Five

Ricky and Joe were a guileless pair. While not simple minded they lacked the common sense that kept most men moving forward. Fact was, Dillon reckoned it was because of Lydia Burrcock that the two had remained on the right side of the law and not in their innocence gotten them selves mixed up with the low life and ne're-do-wells of the West. However, it was because of Lydia as well, that they had never attained greater heights as far as ambition was concerned. Ricky and Joe seemed satisfied to do their job and earn enough money to have a little fun in Dodge City once or twice a month.

The Marshal interviewed the pair in the Lousy R bunkhouse. The square frame building carried with it the benign stink of stale sweat, burnt coffee, cow dung and smelly feet. Dillon unaffected by the odor, learned forward, "Tell me what happened out there."

Ricky a tall thin balding man and Joe, thickset and round faced were seated opposite the lawman at the table in the middle of the room. Both men bore the contusions and abrasions consistent with a recent brawl.

The tips of Joe's ears turned red, "Weren't nothing' Marshal, honest. Me 'n Ricky was just actin' out. Had us some Gold Barrel when we knowd we shouldn'ta. Told a tale when we got back to Miss Lydia so's she wouldn't be mad."

"What made you change your story?"

Ricky looked away, "Didn't want no trouble, but things got outa hand, we didn't reckon she'd send fer you." He glanced back at Dillon and then looked away again. "We figured it'd be worse trouble to lie to a lawman than to Miss Lydia."

"That so."

"Yup." Their answer in unison was swift.

Dillon's eyes narrowed as he looked closely at the pair. "So you saw nothing out there to make you suspicious?"

Joe smiled sheepishly, "Hell, we was too drunk to know what we seen and what we didn't see."

"How many head are missing?"

"Don't know fer sure. Most likely them that scattered found their way back to the herd."

Matt's features hardened. Something didn't add up.

Joe squirmed under the scrutiny, but Ricky gained a measure of bravado as he asserted, "Tellin' the truth Marshal."

He set his jaw slightly off center for a moment, when Dillon spoke again his voice was low, "A good cowhand, wouldn't risk the herd, by getting drunk. Too dangerous."

The thin man shrugged his shoulders, "Guess we ain't such good hands."

Matt was all lawman as he rose to his feet. "You know where my office is. I suggest you talk it over and stop by to see me this week. I'll let Mrs. Burrcock know I'll be expecting to see you in Dodge before the 4th."

**GS GS GS**

Ma had sent along a picnic supper of meatloaf sandwiches, grapes, farmer cheese and sorghum cookies. Despite her determination to remain downhearted, Matilda's mood lightened. While her step-mother tided up after their meal, the old doctor gave the little girl his complete attention. The two sat side by side, fishing lines bobbing in the gentle flowing waters, munching on cookies. After a bit Matilda spoke, "you knew Miss Kitty for a long time didn't you Doc?"

He smiled while keeping his eyes on the cork bobber. "I knew her since the first day she came to Dodge."

"Did Matt Dillon know her then too?"

He glanced at Matilda, to see what kind of expression she wore, but it was difficult to tell. She'd inherited her mother's poker face. "Yup. Matt Dillon and I were having breakfast at Delmonico's when she came in the door. It was raining out and Miss Kitty's skirt was spattered with mud and the plume on her bonnet was hanging kind of low, but she was still the prettiest thing to ever hit Dodge, until you came along of course."

Matilda giggled. "They fell in love when their eyes met, didn't they Doc, just like in one of Grandma Heitzer's fairytale stories."

"Well, I haven't read too many fairytales." A fish nibbled at his worm, Doc gave the line a tug, but the fish swam away. He pulled in the empty hook and dug around in the tin can containing moist dirt and night crawlers. He pulled out a long wiggly worm and with the hands of a surgeon, applied it to his hook and then tossed the line back into the water. This task completed, he turned his attention back to Matilda. "I don't think it took too long for them to realize what was between them." Doc jiggled his line again. "In fact … as I remember, when your mother first came to town your father told to me he thought she was mighty nice and he wanted to get to know her better. Since she worked at the Long Branch ..."

"She owned the Long Branch, right Doc?" Matilda interrupted.

"Well this was before she owned it. She just worked there and she worked mighty hard, let me tell you. Well, I suggested your father just go see her there … buy her a drink and …"

"What kinda drink?" Matilda interrupted again.

He rubbed his hand over his moustache to wipe away the cookie crumbs, "I don't know … a beer I guess, he didn't have much money either. Anyway, he said he didn't want her to feel like she was working. I suggested he take her on a picnic."

"A picnic … like this?"

"Not exactly, I thought just the two of them could go. A Sunday picnic … you see, as a general rule, saloons and outlaws take Sunday off."

"And did they go? Just the two of them, I mean?"

"Well no … oh, they started off alone, but they happened upon Chester and me … we were fishing this exact spot …"

"Chester? Was Chester _your_ girlfriend?"

Doc snorted. "No! Good heavens! Chester's a man."

Matilda laughed, "I thought that was a funny name for a girl." She scratched her nose leaving behind a muddy smudge. "Was Miss Kitty wearing one of her fancy dresses?"

"No, she didn't have too many fancy dresses back then. As I recollect she had on a blue gingham gown. And she wore her hair down with a ribbon to keep it off her face."

"I bet she looked real pretty like that. So what happened Doc?"

"Chester invited them to stay, he said we had plenty of food and it'd be a sin not to share it. Before your father could say 'no', Kitty accepted Chester's invitation. And you know what?"

"What?"

"She caught more fish than anyone else." He shook his head and clicked his tongue. "She sure could fish!"

"I guess I take after her, huh?"

His old eyes grew misty with tenderness, "I guess you do … in a lot of ways."

"What happened to your friend Chester?

Doc chuckled, "He moved to South Dakota. Got married and he and his wife have six daughters!"

They sat amiably for a spell and then after a bit, Matilda looked at Doc Adams and said, "If I had a Grandpa, I'd want him to be just like you."

"Well, I'll tell you something young lady, if I had a granddaughter I'd want her to be just like you." Matilda laughed and Doc smiled binding their kinship.

Twenty yards up river, Sydney finished washing their dishes. She'd heard the conversation between Matilda and Doc Adams. It served to remind her she was Matt Dillon's wife in name only. Her husband's heart would always belong to another woman. She'd do best to remember that. She gathered their plates and stood up. As she did she caught sight of two strangers on horseback watching her from the far bank of the river. One of the men tipped his hat when she caught his eye and then both men spurred their horses and rode off at a gallop.

**GS GS GS**

It was dark when Matt and Festus rode back to town. They were weary and frustrated with the turn of events at the Lousy R. Matt left Festus to tend to the animals and headed down the street to the boarding house. He passed Doc's office on the way and seeing the light burning in the second story window decided to pay a visit and maybe share a nightcap with his old friend. An ulterior motive lurked just beneath the surface of his understanding.

Adams had performed his evening ablutions, donned his nightshirt and was ready to turn down the lamp when the knock came. 'Never fails', the old man grumped as he walked stiffly to the door. "Who's there?" He asked.

"Matt."

The door was opened before Dillon had a chance to close his mouth. Doc appraised him anxiously. "You all right, not shot up, beat up or stabbed anywhere?"

"I'm fine." Matt answered with a hint of amusement.

"Good, I'm in no mood to patch you up tonight. Thought you'd be out on the prairie tracking down the Sharlows by this time."

"'Seems Ricky and Joe made up the story about the Sharlows. You gonna ask me in?"

"No, but I reckon you'll push your way on in anyway." He opened the door so the big man could pass through.

"Got anything to drink?"

"Last time I looked there wasn't a sign hanging outside declaring this a drinking establishment." He was more than his usual crotchety self as he sat down at his desk, opened up the bottom drawer and removed a whiskey bottle and two glasses.

Dillon scowled, "What's got you all riled up?"

Doc poured them each a drink, "You for one thing, that little girl of yours for another."

Matt eased his long body into the chair beside the desk. "What did she do now?"

"She did nothing, unless you call a broken heart nothing."

"What are you talking about?"

"Give it some quiet thought it might come to you."

Matt downed his shot and helped himself to another. "Maybe you just better tell me what's going on."

"Did you promise to spend the entire day with Matilda?"

"Well, yeah, but that's when I thought I'd have the day free. Something came up, she should be able to understand that."

Doc stood up and thumped the side of Matt's head with a bony forefinger propelled by an arthritic thumb.

"What'd you do that for?" Dillon glowered, rubbing his injured head.

"Wanted to make sure it's not hollow in there, or maybe an effort to knock a little sense in that hard head of yours. I'm not choosy, take your pick of reasons."

Matt looked sideways at his friend, "She was really upset?"

"Good heavens Matt! She's seven years old. She grew up in an orphanage with the only love coming in the form of a visit from her mother a couple times a year. Without warning she was taken from the only home she's ever known and ends up here in Dodge City, with her mother dead and a father she accurately refers to as doody-head. She was just beginning to build a feeling of trust with you."

"Well, what should I have done Doc? I can't just leave the bad guys wait while I play tea party." This conversation was running on a familiar course and Dillon had a pretty good idea what Doc's answer was going to be.

"I suggest you talk with her Matt, let her know you care about her, that you love her."

"I did that Doc …"

There was anger in Doc's voice as he cut Dillon short, "It's going to take more than ten minutes here and there to make a difference in that little girl's life. She's not Kitty, you know, you can't build on maybes and somedays."

The blow of the words hit harder than perhaps Doc even knew. Dillon stood, he placed his glass on the desk with undue force. "Sorry to have bothered you …" he said and walked out the door.

The night was cool for July, and he felt an alien chill as he stood alone on Front Street pondering his life's problems. As a norm, Dillon's mind didn't run to sentimentalities. By nature and necessity he was a man who lived in the moment. Emotion was something he preferred to suppress, and perhaps it was for this reason the loss of Kitty had hit him so hard. All of those missed _maybes_ and _somedays_ had come home to roost with her death. Now the defect in Dillon that had plagued Kitty Russell affected their child as well. It hadn't occurred to him until the conversation with Doc, that Matilda might be disappointed. But, as he thought over Doc's argument it became painfully clear to him that his child had a legitimate grievance. The kid had certainly drawn a short straw when it came to parents.

He used the back door at the boarding house. Doing his best to be quiet as he tiptoed into the moonlit kitchen. He was nearly startled out of his boots when he heard a voice from the corner saying, "'bout time you got yourself home Matt Dillon."

"Ma! What are you doing sitting up in the dark?"

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm waiting up for you."

"What made you so sure I'd get back tonight?"

"Well truth is, I wasn't going to wait up much longer … but I figured after that kiss Sydney planted on your lips, you'd make a good effort to get back."

"That kiss meant nothing." His voice echoed some of the inner turmoil he was dealing with. "You know, this isn't one of your sappy love stories Ma. Happy-ever-after is just a gimmick to get you to pay a dime for the book."

He heard the rocking chair she'd been sitting on creak as she stood up. "Oh it meant something. Meant something to you Matt Dillon, don't deny it."

"You stayed up half the night to tell me that?"

"No. I wanted to tell you about that little girl of yours."

"What about her?" He stared into the dark corner by the cook stove where she stood, in the moon's shadows he could see her rag-rolled hair bob as she spoke.

"You broke her little heart today."

"You can save your speech, I already heard it from Doc."

"Well good! You can hear it again from me too." She walked to the kitchen table where she turned up the wick in the kerosene lamp.

"You listen to me Matt Dillon. You might be a big man, but you don't scare me none, and I ain't afraid to tell you the truth when you need to hear it. Matilda ain't no ordinary little girl. There's something special about that child, just like there was something special about her mother. That child deserves to be nurtured and loved so what's good inside her can grow, so the wildness she's inherited from both you and Kitty can find direction and purpose. Oh, Sydney does her best, but being a wife and mother is new to her. Matilda needs a home and two parents she can count on."

The little woman stomped over to him. She was dressed in an ancient flannel house coat with heavy wool socks on her feet. She looked less than intimidating, that is until he caught the sparks flying from her eyes. She raised her arm, extended a finger and poked him repeatedly in the chest to add emphasis to her words. "Time comes Matt Dillon, a man has to make a choice. A man has to decide just where his obligations set. You gotta decide. Is it your badge you answer to, or is it your heart?"


	56. Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Matt Dillon left Ma still scolding as he shut the door behind him. His spirit was bruised and sore. He stood on the back porch, his shoulders hunched and his hands thrust deep in his pockets. All around him, the night wind nipped and tugged at his wounded senses.

It was one of those times when he felt alone and an ache of homesickness took root. Odd, for the fact he'd never really had a home and he briefly wondered how he could grieve for something he'd never known. He started walking aimlessly down the garden path and back up Front Street, not really noticing the direction he traveled. His mind filled with so many random thoughts that a straight idea was impossible to organize.

So deep was he in the mire of his own emotions, that he didn't hear the clip-clip clop of the undertaker's wagon behind him. Nor did he hear the creak of the wheels or the doleful jingle rattle of the harness. It was Percy Crump's low monotone voice that broke through his reverie. "Marshal?"

He jumped back then, and recognizing the mission of the rig, removed his hat by rote, and gave a nod of his head.

Pulling the wagon to a halt the undertaker asked, "Are you alright Marshal?"

"I'm fine." He answered too quickly. "Who have you got?"

"Bill Smith's wife, Erma."

Erma had been doing poorly, and everyone in Dodge knew it was just a matter of time. Still, she left behind a loving husband and a houseful of children and the knowledge death was imminent would not lessen the blow of her passing.

"How's Bill?"

"About as you might expect."

Dillon nodded and Crump gave the reins a snap. "Best not to walk down the middle of the road Marshal." Crump bid as the rig resumed it's solemn trek.

Matt stood in the street and watched until it turned the corner down the alley that led to Crump's place of business.

His mind flashed to that day in Kitty's room when Crump and his apprentice had come to pick up Kitty's body. He'd been sitting holding her hand, so cold and still in his own.

"It's time to let her go." Doc had said.

The cry of protest had worked its way from his heart until it came out his mouth, "No, no, no."

Doc had squeezed his shoulder and taken his hand and forced him away so the men could ease her lifeless body from the bed and onto the stretcher. The sheet covering her had slipped and he'd seen her face slack jawed and sightless and the chilling vision seared its way to the depths of his being. Even that definitive sight was not proof enough to force belief and acceptance. Denial became his ally.

.

**GS GS GS**

The fact he ended up at the cemetery standing in front of Kitty's grave took him by some surprise. He irrationally wondered for a moment, if she had summoned him here. He shook his head wryly, even from beyond the grave was the redhead calling the tune?

He knelt down to a knee, one hand on her stone and the other on the mound of dirt that was still rounded over the place she rested. He spoke in a gravelly whisper. The words adding to the burn of emotion in the back of his throat. "What do you want from me?"

The wind rustled the branches of the ancient white oak that watched over her burial place. Bright stars twinkled in the sky above him. Stark clarity gave rein. Kitty was dead. The dreams of a thousand some day's were as fleeting as dust in the wind. The knowledge slammed at him as if for the first time. Impotent anger and frustration welled within him. Love and hate for the dead woman battled for control. The fingers of his hand clawed at the tender new grass struggling to grow in. His face turned ugly with despair. Bringing up a clump of loose sod in his fist, he threw the dirt at her headstone with vehemence. Anger gave strength to his voice and he demanded again, "What do you want from me?"

The moonlight cast a soft glow on the soiled tombstone. From a nearby tree, a night owl hooted it's haunting cry. Matt Dillon bowed his head in submission and in the dark of that long interminable night acceptance found a home.


	57. Chapter 57

Fifty-Seven

Sydney patiently awaited his return. From the second story window she had seen him cross the street from Doc's office to the boarding house. She was halfway down the back staircase when she'd heard voices in the kitchen, she heard as well the sermon Matt had received from Ma.

When the slam of the kitchen door signaled he'd retreated back into the night, she climbed the stairs and retired to her bed but found sleep impossible. Finally she got up to sit by the open window and stare into the dark sky. Melancholy made a move, but she held it at bay. Never in her life had she imagined herself in such a circumstance. She touched a finger to her lips remembering the sweet sensation of the kiss she'd shared with Matt Dillon in the church narthex. Her pulse quickened at the memory. She leaned back against the window frame picturing the scene and the admiring and surprised looks of those around them.

With a start it came to her - where he'd gone. She sat bolt upright, her features hardened. He'd gone to her. Her heart pinched with jealousy. Whenever he was troubled or confused he sought solace at Kitty's side. Would the day ever come when he would he would seek life contentment from the living? From her? Was that what she wanted? With surprised honesty she knew it was. She walked to Matt's bed and lifted his pillow from the mattress, holding it to her cheek, she inhaled his scent. It was familiar to her and stirred a deeper emotion within. Her hand was unsteady as she returned the pillow to its resting place.

The truth was, Sydney confessed, she cared about Matt Dillon. Despite their differences and early mistrust, a bond, not entirely centered on Matilda, was beginning to form between them. He was her husband. There was a certain sense of ownership in the idea. He was hers. Then, she widened her thinking to encompass the obvious - she was his.

She'd heard enough of the conversation between Ma and Matt to know he'd received a good scolding not only from Mrs. Smalley but from Doc Adams as well. It was not entirely deserved. She was sure of that. If she'd learned anything about the man in the last months it was that Matt Dillon was compelled by an innate sense of honor to do the right thing. He was duty bound to the badge. As an educator she understood something of the code he lived by. Discipline and stoic integrity had been the hallmarks of her life. She knew, other than his liaison with Kitty Russell, Dillon had lived by the same standard. She and Matilda would have to learn to accept the obligations his vocation demanded. It was her task to help the child understand.

After checking Matilda, who was sleeping soundly in bed, Sydney put on her robe and slippers and went down to the kitchen in hopes Matt would return to the boarding house after his visit with Kitty.

**GS GS GS**

The eastern sky was brightening with a new day on the horizon as Matt Dillon made his way back to Mrs. Smalley's. He walked with a purpose. For the first time since Kitty's death he saw his life in clear perspective and not just the jumbled pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He was Matilda's father, and whatever that responsibility demanded of him, he was prepared to fulfill it. Ma had told him it was time to decide where his 'obligations set'. Obligation? No, she was wrong about that, an obligation was something you had to do - a demand of duty, not something accomplished with love. Love. A warmth began to fill the hollow of his heart. He loved his daughter. Matilda wasn't just some kid he'd had forced into his life, she was a beautiful spirit who embodied everything that was good and right about both of her parents. She was a gift, unexpected, yet the greatest blessing of his life. She deserved everything he had to give as a father.

Through the curtained window, he saw the lamp burning in the kitchen. He almost turned around to spend what was left of the night in the jailhouse. He wasn't up to any more tongue lashings. This time it was Sydney sitting at the table with spectacles perched precariously on her nose and a book held too close to her eyes in the dim light. He let himself in and she looked up.

She smiled when she saw him. The act was involuntary but it prompted a similar response from him. "What are you doing up so early?" He asked.

"I should think that would be quite obvious. I am waiting for you."

"You going to give me hell too?"

"No."

"Then why?"

Her voice was almost tremulous in response, "I thought you might appreciate a friendly face and a welcome home."

He was taken aback and stared at her through weary eyes.

She placed a marker in her book and stood up, "Are you hungry? There's left over roast beef in the icebox. I could make you a sandwich. The fire's gone out on the stove, so I'm afraid anything hot is out of the question without waking up the entire house."

"A sandwich would be fine."

"Sit. I'll pour you some buttermilk."

He did and watched as she moved quietly about the kitchen, cutting a good slice of meat and slathering butter to the bread. She poured his drink and then placed plate and glass in front of him.

He took a drink and ate a couple bites of the sandwich before looking up at her. "What's this all about?"

She smiled again, the reflex coming more naturally. "I just think it's time we became friends. After all, we're in this together."

He caught her eyes and held them for a moment, "Miss Sydney, I sure could use a friend."


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter 58**

The newlyweds sat at the kitchen table and talked in hushed voices. He about the loss of Kitty, she about growing up in her father's shadow in a home without warmth or affection. They only skimmed the surface of hurt. Intimacy was not mentioned, love was not implied but in the sharing, friendship formed a new, but fragile foundation.

When sunlight broke through the curtained window, Matt Dillon lit the stove and Sydney set a pot of coffee to brew. Ma sleepy-eyed and yawning walked into the kitchen and jumped in surprise to see the two of them together. She regained her composure fast enough. "You two up already?"

"Haven't been to bed yet Ma." Matt replied handing the old woman a cup of coffee. "I think I'm ready to go up now. How about you Sydney?" He held out a hand for her to take.

"Yes." She replied accepting his offer.

**GS GS GS**

Matilda woke up a couple of hours later, got dressed in her play clothes and opened the French doors to Matt and Sydney's bedroom. She figured Matt Dillon was still out somewhere chasing bad guys, and was surprised to see them both in their own beds, sound asleep and snoring. She tiptoed from the room and then ran up the hall to the front stairway. The bannister going down the steps to the formal entry way was polished and slick and perfect for sliding down. She was not allowed to do so, but since there was no one around to tattle on her, she did anyway. Straddling the rail, she slid down backward landing with a light footed clunk.

She scurried to the kitchen to find Ma serving Herbie a plate of scrambled eggs. Ma gave her a glare, "How come you came down the front way?"

"I dunno." She replied sweetly.

"Wouldn't be, you rode the railing down, now would it?"

She opened her eyes wide in innocence, "Me Ma? You told me not to."

Mrs. Smalley gave a, "Humph. Well, sit on down for breakfast, I'll dish you up some eggs too. Your folks up yet?"

"Nope."

Matilda sat next to Herbie, ate two bites of eggs and a quick swallow of milk and then gave the boy a punch in the arm, "Come on, let's go over to Mrs. Mc Goo's and see if Annie's up yet."

"You two just stay put, you're not going anywhere at this time of day and especially not to Mrs. Hinkle's."

"Why not?"

"Because, ain't no one home over there except Prudy."

"Whatdyamean?"

"Benny Smith, the butter 'n eggs man told me this morning, they all left on the train for Denver, Colorado right after the wedding party yesterday. Seems they heard about a famous doctor there who could fix up Annie's eyes."

Matilda's smile turned to a pout, she had looked forward to playing with Annie and Mrs. McGoo. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back dejectedly.

"It's alright Mattie" Herbie consoled. "I'll play with you."

Mrs. Smalley waved a spatula in their direction, "There will be no playing for either one of you. I have Mr. Pendergast here and two extra boarders besides. I got a vegetable garden to be weeded, flowers to be dead headed and dusting to be done. The pair of you will answer to me until the chores are finished. You best finish up them eggs Missy, I don't want to hear no whining about being hungry this morning."

Matilda sighed and with the help of her fingers scooped up a forkful of eggs, "Yes Ma."

**GS GS GS**

Morning was half over when Marshal and Mrs. Dillon finally woke from their slumber. On the far side of the wardrobe Sydney had tried to put her day clothes on without making extra noise and waking her husband. Dillon wasn't as considerate. "You up?" he asked in a loud voice. She could hear the sound of his belt jingling as he pulled on yesterday's pants. She thought he'd most likely dropped them to the floor before going to bed.

She was buttoning up her clean white blouse, "Yes." She replied turning her back to his voice despite the fact the massive piece of furniture shielded her from his view.

His mattress squeaked as he sat down to pull on his boots. His voice reflected the effort, "I'm glad we had our talk last night."

"It was morning." She corrected and then could have bit her tongue.

"Yeah. Well, I'm glad we talked. Look Syd, with the 4th coming up and the Sharlows on the loose, I'm going to be busy the next couple days, but I want to make sure we spend time together as a family - for Matilda's sake."

"She'd like that."

He heard the door close on her side of the wardrobe, "Are you decent?" He asked.

"Yes." She was placing the last pin in her hairdo. She was wearing it soft today and the look was charming.

He walked around to her side of the wardrobe, his cheeks were stubbly with a new day's growth of beard and his fresh blue shirt was only partially buttoned, "You were right about us being friends. Once things settle down, we need to continue our conversation."

Seeing him such was doing strange things to her heart rhythm, "What about?"

He moved directly in front of her and placed his hands on her upper arms, and then pulled back abruptly releasing his hold. He ran his tongue over his lips before answering, "Matilda and us, our future."

She nodded and stood where she was watching as he finished his morning routine. He grabbed his holster from its hook on the wall and strapped it in place and then slid his Stetson on his head. Adjusting the fit, he looked at her with a hint of a smile, "I'll see you later."

She sounded disappointed when she asked, "You're not coming down for breakfast?"

"Days half over ... I got business to tend to."

**GS GS GS**

Mrs. Smalley was out in the yard directing the children with their chores. Mr. And Mrs. Heitzer were on the front porch rocking and watching the activities as Dodge City readied itself for the holiday weekend ahead and Sydney was finishing up her toast and coffee when Rudy Pendergast, the traveling salesman came in the kitchen. He helped himself to a cup of coffee and walked over to the table where she sat. "Mind if I join you Mrs. Dillon."

"I was just leaving." She replied rising to her feet.

"Please don't leave on my account." His hair was slicked and his moustache waxed, and he talked with a greasy voice, "I must say, madam, married life certainly agrees with you." His leering eyes traveled up and down her figure. "Yes, sir. It certainly does agrees with you!"

She could feel his eyes upon her as she gathered her mug and plate and took them to the dry sink. She turned to face him with squared shoulders and rigid spine. "Good day to you, Mr. Pendergast."

He stood and made a rather elaborate bow, "And to you Mrs. Dillon. I'll look forward to your company at supper this evening."

She didn't like Mr. Pendergast and she wasn't sure why, she'd always had a vague mistrust of the man, but today, there was something about him that made her flesh crawl. She would be relieved when he left town again. She thought briefly about mentioning it to her husband, but then changed her mind. She had no evidence to support her uneasy feeling. Matt would think her nothing but a typical flighty female and perhaps scoff at her claim of feminine intuition. Their relationship rested on a tenuous balance, she was going to do nothing to tip the scale.

**GS GS GS**

For Sydney the rest of the day was uneventful, other than an invitation that was delivered by messenger and sent by Beatrice Hoffman and Ramona Hyatt, President and Vice President of the Western Kansas Women's Temperance and Suffrage League. The two women were in town in hope of enlisting support for the suffrage movement. The invitation read, _Your presence is requested at a discussion of women's rights and your role in the fight. Tomorrow, July 3, 1888 at 10:00 AM. Room 125, Dodge House._


	59. Chapter 59

**Fifty-nine**

If the day had been uneventful, the evening proved just the opposite. Mr. Pendergast, who had vowed to spend the evening meal in Sydney's company was absent as was Miss Taffy Boyd and the two boarders in town for the 4th of July, who were to occupy cots in Ma's sewing room.

Mrs. Smalley served a light supper of chicken soup and sweet rolls with a plate of sugar cookies for dessert. After a polite exchange of pleasantries as to the course of everyone's day. The topic of conversation took a sharp turn from an unexpected source.

"Heard tell you got an invite to that there suffragette meeting tomorrow Mrs. Dillon." Grandpa Heitzer stated as Grandma Heitzer ladled him a bowl of soup.

Sydney placed her napkin in her lap and looked across the table at the older gentleman, "Yes, I'm looking forward to meeting Miss Hoffman and Miss Hyatt."

Ma buttered a roll for Matilda, "Been tried before in Dodge City. The menfolk don't take kindly to them that go around spouting the gospel of women rights."

Sydney raised her eyebrows but not her voice, "Mrs. Smalley, you of all people should understand and support what these women are trying to do."

"Understand? Maybe ... but it don't make good business sense to go ruffling the feathers of the hens that feed you, well in this case the roosters."

"I would be happy to share my latest issue of the _Kansas Liberal_, perhaps with enlightenment to the cause, you will take on a better appreciation of the movement."

"I know full well what that Annie Diggs, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony and their kind are encouraging. They talk about men and women being equal, marching on the Capital and waving signs in the air, wearing britches and trying to vote and getting tossed in jail for it. Why, they got women locked up in England starving themselves to death, saying they won't eat until things change. Where's it gotten 'em, I'd like to know? Nothing but shame to their folks and an early grave."

"As is my right Mrs. Smalley, I disagree and plan on using this opportunity to support the cause by taking an active role in the movement for equality."

Dillon chewed on a sweet roll while studying his wife. Matilda and Herbie eyed each other from across the table. The cookie platter rested an arms reach from each of them.

At the other end of the table Grandpa Heitzer shook his head,"Thought this whole durn fool notion was settled last year by the U.S. Senate and ... if you was to ask me, women should consider themselves lucky and be grateful they don't hafta take on the hard work and worry of their husbands. The good Lord made woman to be a loving helpmate to her man, raise his children and see to his needs. The way I looks at it, you gals should be mighty thankful to God, that He _**didn't**_ make you equal to men. You don't have to go to work or make hard decisions. You can leave it up to your man."

Sydney kept her voice controlled, although her ire was rising. "Mr. Heitzer, every woman at this table has done a man's work at some point or another. Women possess the same talents and the same mental and physical toughness and capacity for logic and rational thoughts as do their male counterparts. Yet, we are denied the rights and liberties enjoyed by men."

Grandma Heitzer had listened to Grandpa Heitzer with some shock, for never had she realized he saw her as something less than a full partner in his life. She stood up with hands to her hips and a fierce look on her face. "Why that's a fact, and as for hard work, I reckon a time or two I worked right along side you plowing the fields and doing more too, nursing a babe, washing your clothes, making your food, cleaning your house. _Yours_ because under the law I'm not much better than them slaves freed all those years ago."

Dillon's voice was calm and the words spoken under his breath, "This is what happens when they come to town." He said before taking another slurp of soup.

Sydney looked sharply at him, "What are you talking about?"

This time he did look up, "I'm saying no good comes from it. Those suffregettes just rile things up, turning husband against wife and man against woman. You can't be what you're not."

This time she raised both eyebrows and voice, "What?"

"You're a woman Sydney and in case you haven't noticed women are different from men. They're not designed to do what a man does."

She put her napkin on the table with some force. Dillon was pushing things. "I didn't want to say women are superior to men, but if you get right down to it ..."

He cut her off, "You get right down to it, women were made to have babies, not all this other nonsense."

"Nonsense? NONSENSE?" She was on her feet now too. "For a good number of years I have earned my living, Mrs. Smalley as well has run a successful business without the aid of a man, and might I also point out your own Kitty Russell was the most successful business woman in town."

He choked on his soup. Sydney rushed over and gave him a sharp slap to his back, the contents in his mouth spewed forth.

Mrs. Smalley was on her feet too, not with any attempt to offer aid to her boarder but rather in adamant terms to dispute his statement. "Made to have babies? Is that what you think? I declare I've never heard such foolish nonsense in my whole life ..."

And before they knew it, each adult at the table was yelling out their opinion at the top of their voices. Matilda and Herbie exchanged a smile, reached out and each grabbed a handful of cookies, stuffing them in their pockets before making a swift escape to the back yard.

The dinner argument left each participant a little spent in its wake. The Marshal retreated to his official duties with a growled "good-bye". The ladies did not acknowledge his leaving, but removed the dishes from the table with a good deal of indignant huffing. Grandpa Heitzer was left sitting at the table puzzling over women folk and eating the only sugar cookie left on the platter. He wondered briefly if anyone would get upset with him if he asked for a cup of coffee. He decided to forgo that particular pleasure and find himself a place on the front porch swing, far away from the cackling bunch of hens cooped in the kitchen.

There were plenty of strangers in town for Dillon and his deputies to keep an eye on. As he made his nightly rounds, the lawman had an uneasy feeling that he couldn't put a finger on. He was worried about the Shallows, worried about the goings on at the Lousy R, and now worried too about Sydney getting mixed up with the suffragettes. He had not wanted to frighten her but what he said was true. Trouble followed the protestors. He wasn't happy they'd marked Dodge as the site for their Independence Day Rally. Sydney was an easy mark and he didn't want to see her come to harm.

He returned to the boarding house late. To his vague disappointment no one was waiting up for him in the kitchen. He slipped his boots off at the kitchen table and then made his way up the back stairs on stockinged feet. He used his key to enter the room, for he always insisted Sydney keep their rooms locked. No dim light was burning for him here either, and he stubbed his toe on a chair he would have sworn had been on the other side of the room that morning. He wondered if she had set it there on purpose. He supposed what bothered him the most about this whole thing was the fact he and Sydney had been on the verge of true friendship and now they were again at odds. He had to try to repair that damage. From his side of the wardrobe that divided their space he knocked. "You awake Sydney?" He said in a voice loud enough to assure she would be.

"Yes." She answered immediately.

He made swift strides to her side of the cabinet. "About supper and that whole conversation ..."

She was sitting up in bed, pillows propped behind her. She reached over and turned the wick up on her bedside lamp.

"Yes?" She looked up at him with tousled hair and dewy eyes and for a moment Matt forgot what he wanted to say.

He moved forward to sit on the side of her bed. "Look, I spoke out of line. I do think there should be equal rights for women, although I have to admit, I don't think men and women are equal." He smiled. "There are a hell of a lota things women do better than men."

She returned his smile, "Do you truly believe that?"

"Yup." His mouth was suddenly very dry. He cleared his throat and tried to gather his thoughts. She smelled good and the scent was stirring things in him. He licked his lips and smiled, "If you feel this is something you have to do, just be careful. There are a lot of strangers in town ... men who might take advantage of the situation. Like you saw at the supper table, this subject stirs up a lot of emotions. I'd sure hate to see you in the middle of something." He studied her in the lamp light, he could see the swell of her breasts, the outline and curve.

He was so close and looking at her with an intensity she'd never seen before. She was suddenly aware they were together on her bed, that only a thin cotton gown kept her from being naked to his eyes. He swayed forward and it was as if a force were pulling her closer and closer, heartbeat by heartbeat until their lips met. A kiss, a real kiss, not prompted by the need to prove affection to a suspicions town, nor fueled by a fever induced passion. This was as true as the moment, testing, tasting, teasing. A small moan escaped through her lips and fueled a deeper exploration on his part. His weight pushed her back against the pillows. He shifted his position and she rose to meet him and this time it was he who moaned.

Only Matilda's voice coming from the next room, "Daddy?" brought the moment to an unexpected climax.

He sat up. "Just me Matilda, I'm home, you go back to sleep now, everything's alright."

"Night Daddy, night Mother."

"Good night Matilda." they called in unison.

Matt stood up and turned his back to Sydney. He seemed to take a moment to gather himself before he said, "I'm sorry Sydney. Guess, I forgot about that contract I signed. I hope you won't hold this against me."

She was too breathless to reply.

"Good night." He said and walked to his side of the room, she heard the squeak of his bed springs as he lay down.

"Sleep well." She finally said, and knew that task would be most difficult for her to accomplish.


	60. Chapter 60

**Sixty**

Her dreams that night were random and few and dominated by the rugged lawman snoring in the bed on the other side of the wardrobe. The contract. She hadn't been forthright with him. He thought the contract was still binding, he assumed she had signed it making it a legal document. Was it fair to let him believe that which she herself was no longer sure of?

The springs of his bed protested his movement. She unconsciously smiled as she pictured him. Bedclothes wrinkled. Hair in disarray. Chin covered by a fresh growth of salt and pepper stubble.

"You awake?" He asked disrupting her errant thoughts.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry about what happened."

He was apologizing. She wasn't sure if she should be happy or disappointed. She decided to be honest. "It was as much my fault as much as yours." He was quiet then as if digesting the information. She filled the silence with a confession. "Matthew ... I too was caught in the ... moment."

Still more information for him to process. Finally, just when she thought he might have fallen back to sleep, he said. "We'll have to be more careful then."

"Yes." She replied quietly. So that was that. Their momentary passion meant no more to him than a primal urge. She'd be foolish to think otherwise. He was a man who could bed any woman who took his fancy. Why should she dare to hope there was affection attached to their brief encounter with intimacy? Exhaustion finally forced Sydney to a dreamless sleep. Sometime later, she was awakened by Matilda who was doing her best to tiptoe through the bedroom and not succeeding.

"Good morning." Sydney said as she propped herself a little higher in bed.

"Hi." Matilda skipped over to the bed and smiled at her former teacher. "You look like you didn't sleep so good. Maybe you should try to go back to sleep."

Sydney glanced at the clock ticking on the wall. She whispered, "No, I'd better get up. I have the meeting this morning with the suffragettes. Let's be quiet so we don't wake your father."

The little girl peeked her head around the corner of the wardrobe and then popped back again. "His bed is empty and already made."

"Oh." There was disappointment in the word that even Matilda recognized. "You go on down for breakfast. Perhaps you can spend some time with him before he leaves for work. I'll join you when I am properly attired for the day."

She hurriedly dressed in a new polished cotton gown she'd purchased from Mary Helgemoe's dress shop. Sydney had always worn solid colors of sensible material. This was neither, for the shiny fabric featured a delicate print of small pink rosebuds on a light brown background. It was a stylish design, with a scoop neckline and tight bodice that showed off her trim figure to good advantage. The added bonus was that it matched her new bonnet.

She did a rather hasty job on her hair with the idea of redoing it before going out. Her main thought this morning was to spend a few moments as a family before her husband left to attend his duties. Her hand was on the door when it opened and Matt Dillon stood before her. He gently backed her into the room and quickly shut the door behind them.

He moved to her again. His hands gently gripped her forearms, "Sydney", he said. "What happened last night ..."

She was caught off-guard, "Yes?"

He was searching for words, "If Matilda hadn't called out ..." She was blushing and her lips were a rosy hue that made him want to kiss her all over again.

"Yes?" She said again. Her heart was thumping. There was an energy between them. She was excited and afraid at the same time.

"You know what would have happened, don't you?" The neckline of her gown gave him a glimpse to the gentle rounding of her breasts.

She smiled then and her face was as beautiful as he'd ever seen it. "I suspect we would have consummated our marriage."

"Yeah." He said and winced. "I signed that contract with good intent. But, I don't know ..."

"I never signed the contract ..."

He continued as though he hadn't heard her. "I don't know if I can abide by it."

"I never signed the contract ..." She repeated.

"Something happened, I'm not sure where or when, but Sydney, I care about you. When I'm not with you I think about you ..."

"Matt! I never signed the contract."

Her words finally hit home. His voice was incredulous, "You didn't sign it?"

She shook her head and looked down for a moment, "No."

His eyes brightened with hope, "Why not?"

"I don't know, at least I didn't at the time ... I suspect ... " now she was the one fighting to find the right words, "I suspect I was beginning to feel a deeper emotion toward you ... I hid the contract in a dresser draw..."

Before she could get the words out of her mouth his lips were upon hers. Hungry, the both of them, feeding off the passion of the union the kiss implied. His hands pressed against the small of her back, bringing her to close contact with his hard male physique.

With a mighty effort, he forced self-control and separated from her to search her eyes, before he spoke again. He took her hands in his, caressed her palms with calloused thumbs, and drew a deep breath. "We need to talk, we need everything out in the open, not only for us, but for Mattie. Not one of us can afford anymore hurt."

She nodded and spoke as one who had just finished a sprint, breathless, "It would be the sensible thing." She agreed. Their eyes locked again.

"Hell!" he swore and swept her in his arms nearly lifting her from the floor so that only her tip toes made contact with Ma's precious wood planks.

This kiss, born of fire and passion and promise, made clear the fact the lawman was staking his claim. The schoolmarm gave herself entirely to the firestorm within, trusting completely in the strong arms enfolding her. She, who was a virgin to such frank emotion felt no fear or remorse. What's more, Sydney Elvira Tuttwell felt loved.


	61. Chapter 61

**Sixty-one**

He felt young. Aches and pains that had tormented him the day before were forgotten. He was whistling and there was a long-lost spring back to his step as he walked down the boardwalk to his office later that morning.

Ricky and Joe, the two ranch hands from the Lousy R and their boss Lydia Burcock were waiting for Matt when he arrived at the jailhouse.

Festus had brought in the two chairs that usually sat in front of the jail so there was enough room for everyone to sit. Although, Mrs. Burcock was standing at the window waiting and watching for Matt's arrival. She spoke as he entered the building. "Keeping bankers hours are you now, Matt Dillon?"

His whistle stopped in mid-tune and something akin to a blush flushed his cheeks. "Lydia? I ..." He cleared his throat and then tried again, "I had family matters to attend to."

She smiled kindly, "I suppose that's to be expected now that you're a married man." The older woman was attractively dressed in a dove-gray riding skirt. She wore a blue flowered vest with a ruffled white blouse underneath. Resting low on her head was a powder blue felt Stetson decorated by a mauve hatband and a spray of blue feathers. On her feet, she sported dark blue riding boots tooled in a paisley design. Her long silver hair was braided and hung down her back in a solitary plait. Lydia took a deep breath, "My boys have something to tell you." She nodded at the middle-aged cowpokes sitting with their hands folded in their laps, "Go on now, say what you come here to say."

Joe stood up, he looked for all the world like a naughty child making a church confession. "Got something to own-up to. What we told you, about what happened in the West pasture, about it being just me and Ricky acting out, well that weren't exactly the case."

Ricky stood up too, although he kept his eyes on his feet. He fingered the brim of his work worn hat as he admitted, "We was out there like we said, had us some Gold Barrel too, that part was true enough. We was just a sittn' by the campfire when these two yahoos rode in. They was real mean lookin' and they said they worked for Sharlow, said they was gonna take the herd. They rustled up every last one of 'em out there in that far pasture. Joe 'n me, we put up a fight, don't go thinkin' we didn't, but they had us. Told us they could kill us if they wanted to, but they said they was fixin' to keep us alive, said they wanted to take over the Lousy R, make it their headquarters, said they had them some big plans. Wanted us to help 'em, was how they put it. Told us if we let on to anyone what they was fixin' to do, they'd kill Miss Lydia. That's why we lied to you, we was afraid fer Miss Lydia."

Dillon adjusted his hat so it rested further back on his head and set the heel of his boot atop his desk chair to ease a kink that had suddenly knotted his spine. "What made you change your mind?"

Joe answered, "We got to thinkin' what happened out at Moon Bar and how if someone had told you what was going on back when it all started, well maybe Miss Susan wouldn't be dead now. Last night, we come clean to Miss Lydia 'n we told her she ought come to town with us, so's you could look out fer her."

Ricky nodded, "We're awful sorry we didn't tell you the truth Marshal. Guess we made a real mess of things."

Dillon stood straight again with both feet on the ground, "I'm glad you're telling me the truth now. Let's see if we can go about setting things right." He turned to the rancher and gave her a smile. "Lydia, what are we going to do with you? I think it's best we keep you hidden away for a while."

Hagen was scratching his stubbled chin, "Matthew, there ain't nary a hotel, or boarding house that ain't full clear to the brim, what with all the goings on. Why even tent city is packed tighter than a prairie dog town."

Dillon was thinking out loud, "I'd sure like to give those Shallows a chance to play out their hand but I'd like to avoid trouble until after the celebration is over and things quiet down in Dodge." He turned to stare out the front window and contemplate his options. From this perspective he could see the second floor balcony of the Long Branch. He winced, but not so anyone noticed. He gathered his breath, "You can stay in Kitty's rooms. We'll have to figure out how to sneak you across the street and through the back entrance. But, you should be safe there."

Hagen shook his head, "Just how do you figure on asneaking her across the street? Anyone that's got a look out is a gonna think it's a might peculiar fer Miss Lydia to go in the Long Branch especially if'n she don't come back out agin."

Lydia was staring at Hagen so hard it made the deputy uneasy. He stretched his neck out and ran a finger under his kerchief.

She walked over to him. She didn't say a word but stood next to him studying him, looking up and down and then glancing at her own person as though she was taking inventory. Finally she said, "I am an inch or two taller than you, but maybe not so much that anyone would notice at a passing glance."

Festus squinted an eyeball in response. She continued, "If you were to shave those scraggly whiskers of yours it just might work."

He backed up and into the wood stove, "Ma'am?"

She turned to look at Dillon, "What do you think Marshal?"

Matt studied the pair of them side by side. "It might work Lydia."

She reached a hand back and pulled her braided hair over her shoulder,"Have you got a scissors?" she asked.

Dillon opened his desk drawer and produced a pair. He handed it to her. She in turn gave the cutting tool to the hill man, who looked at her with complete puzzlement.

"Here." She said, removing her fancy Stetson and turning her back to him. "You do the honors. Cut just above the rawhide so the ponytail stays in tact."

"Ma'am?" Festus questioned again. "You aim fer me to cut off your hair?"

"I've been meaning to rid myself of the bother for years now. This will serve as good excuse."

Hagen glanced at his friend the Marshal who was already stirring up the glue-pot. Light dawned in his eyes, "Now hold on just a dad burn ..."

"Go on. Cut it off Festus. We'll glue it on to the back of my hat. You wear my clothes, I'll wear yours. No one will be the wiser, you and the boys ride back to the Lousy R as Matt said, it'll buy some time and give the Sharlows a chance to play their hand."

"I ain't a gonna wear no she-maley do-duds ... Matthew, it don't say no where in that there oath you made me swear to about wearing skirts and pony tails."

Matt kept a straight face and repeated a portion of the solumn pledge, "to perform and discharge fully the duties, obligations and requirements of the office of Deputy United States Marshal, whatsoever they may be ..."

Hagen wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to keep his clothing secured, "I'd take a bullet, be horsewhipped and hogtied, but I ain't puttin' on no skirt ... And I ain't wearing no frilly ..."

"I'd say Miss Lydia is getting the poorer bargain, what you'll be putting on is fresh smelling and clean. Poor Lydia has to wear your clothes, trail dust, fleas and all."

"Matthew, you know I ain't got me no fleas ..."

**GS GS GS**

Thirty minutes later there emerged from the Marshal's Office a slightly shorter version of Lydia Burdock. Stetson resting low on the head and long silver pony tail hanging out the back of the powder blue hat. The frilly white blouse, flowered vest and riding skirt neatly in place. If the wearer's boots were a little snug, no one made note of the difference. The Lousy R horses were mounted and spurred to a gallop as they rode out of town and back to the ranch.

A short while later, Lydia Burdock dressed in Festus Hagen's baggy britches, dusty scuffed boots, faded shirt, grubby oversized vest, with a large stained kerchief draped around her neck made her way across Front Street and down the alley behind the Long Branch Saloon. Around her hips she wore a gun belt and atop her head the battered, sweat stained hat of the hill man. Following the Marshal's directions she climbed the back stairs and let herself in the door leading to what had most recently been the private quarters of Kitty Russell.


	62. Chapter 62

very short 'chaplet' in answer to inquiring minds

**Sixty-two**

It had been amazing! The most glorious explosion of fireworks imaginable had rocketed through her core until every inch of her anatomy felt illuminated. She knew nothing planned by Mr. Bodkin, Mr. Burke and the whole of the Dodge City Independence Day Celebration Committee would rival the experience. She smiled now, for just the memory brought with it a resurgence of delightful flares and sparkles. "I want to do this again and again." She'd told him, he with hard muscles spent and the sheen of sweat glistening from his brow bestowed yet another kiss to her eager lips.

With a goofy smile, he said, "I think that can be arranged." Then his face had softened and the smile had turned to concern, "But, we'd better wait a little while."

She'd looked into his eyes and her worry and insecurity must have shown on her face. He reached out a big hand to caress her breast and tease with his thumb. "You might be a little sore, this being the first time."

Now, replaying the experience she realized he was right. She was tender in that private region despite the fact he'd been so gentle. She'd bled some and she knew she'd have to replace the sheets or Ma would surely guess what had happened.

She glanced around the empty room. He'd left her still in bed, to rush off to the office, but the look he gave her, told better than any words he could have uttered, he'd much rather have stayed right there beside her.

Time! She glanced at the clock ticking on the wall, she didn't have much time to get dressed again and be ready to attend the meeting at the Dodge House. Her new dress was puddled on the floor where it had landed. Her underthings littered the path to the bed. She herself was in a sure state of disarray and she wondered if she would ever be able to pull herself back together, especially in time to face the suffragettes. Even with the clock's warning tick, she found herself unable to leave the nest they'd created. Her mind strayed to those great and gentle hands of his. Who would have thought those strong fingers would have such talent?

She could hear sounds coming from the back yard. Matilda and Herbie were playing a game of tag with some neighborhood children. Their voices and laughter so merry that it made Sydney laugh too and then she sighed. A great wave of contentment and completion washed over her. She bit her lip. Her eyes glowed with happiness. She had been wanton and that surprised her, modesty was one of her life's codes and yet this morning there had been nothing she'd been afraid to bare to his eyes.

Even so, she had worried that their little girl might walk in on them. In the midst of passion Sydney had murmured the question, "Matilda?" and Matt had replied between kisses, "Ma promised to keep her busy."

Another glance at the clock and she realized she had only thirty minutes to put herself back in order and get to the meeting. Reluctantly she eased her body from the bed, with a satisfied thought, she knew it would never be just a bed again. And she, well, she Sydney Elvira Tuttwell Dillon, would never be just the same again either.

**GS GS GS**

Matt laughed out loud when Festus, dressed as Lydia Burdock had made his way out of the office down the boardwalk to where the Lousy R horses had been hitched. He noted the deputy was making some effort to walk in a way that might become a lady. Then Lydia, dressed in Festus attire with a little of the dust from Hagen's boots wiped across her face and chin for good effect had left to walk over to Kitty's rooms.

It was then, as he was standing alone, that the twinge of guilt hit him full on. He'd made love to another woman and it had felt good. It had felt right. Yet here, looking across the street to that particular bedroom window he felt as though he'd betrayed something precious.


	63. Chapter 63

**Sixty-three**

The sun was shining bright and clear. A gentle balmy breeze rustled the leaves on trees and tickled the feathers and flowers that adorned summer bonnets. The town smelled of fresh lumber, and the air buzzed with hammer and saw as booth construction took place for the Fourth of July gala. The streets were busy with the traffic of strangers and those country folk who made it to Dodge only once or twice a year. The hotels and boarding houses were full and a tent city had been erected on the outskirts of town. The annual Independence Day Celebration was the highlight of summer and no one wanted to miss the chance to join in the festivities.

New in town were Beatrice Hoffman and Ramona Hyatt, President and Vice President of the Western Kansas Women's Temperance and Suffrage League. Both ladies had come to recruit Sydney Elvira Tuttwell to the organization and their planned demonstration in Dodge City on July 4th. The school teacher was well known throughout Ford County for her fine moral character, intelligence and dedication to duty. With her marital alliance to Matt Dillon her presence would bring added credibility to the movement for women's equality.

**GS GS GS**

Sydney ran down the boardwalk nearly tripping on a loose plank by the general store. She was flush-faced and breathing hard by the time she arrived at the hotel. Howie, the desk clerk looked up; his dour features twitched into a smile. He pointed at the clock on the wall and mouthed, "You're late."

"I know." She mouthed back lifting her skirts to run up the stairs. By the time she stepped on the landing, she could hear noises of the assemblage coming from an open door halfway down the hall. It appeared the meeting was packed to overflowing. A number of women, some of whom she recognized as mothers of her pupils stepped aside so she could gain entry.

The hotel room had been rearranged for the occasion. The bed was pushed against a wall and extra chairs added to accommodate the attendees. She noted in that quick glance such notable residents as Miss Edsel Pry, Mrs. Amos Gilligan, Mrs. Bodkin, Mrs. Orva Dowacker from the Millinary shop, Helga Krump from the bakeria, dressmaker Mary Helgemoe and Orgenia Coolridge. The discussion came to a complete stop when Sydney appeared at the open doorway.

Standing with a table acting as makeshift podium stood the formidable figure of Beatrice Hoffman. She was what was referred to in that time as a handsome woman. Her features were strong, her complexion flawless. Her blue eyes clear and wise. She wore her brown hair in a modern style and her clothing though severe was well tailored and suited her frame. There was nothing frivolous about her. Nothing designed as ornamentation, yet, she wore self-confidence as a war hero wears medals or a bishop wears his vestment raiment.

She stared down the newcomer with an uncompromising glare. "Miss Tuttwell, I presume." All eyes turned to look at Sydney. The school teacher was dressed in her slightly wrinkled, flowered polished cotton with a small ring of perspiration under each armpit. Her hair was hastily pulled back and Mrs. Dowaker's attractive bonnet plopped firmly atop and held in place by several hat pins. She had what looked like a small bruise an inch or so below her left ear and a slight abrasion or burn to her right cheek. Her lips too, looked slightly swollen and there was not one of the Dodge City women gathered at the meeting who couldn't guess the reason for the ever so proper Miss Tuttwell's current state of disarray. The speculation brought added warmth to the close quarters and several fans picked up a more rapid pace to compensate.

Sydney gathered her dignity, "The name is Mrs. Dillon." She corrected, articulating her marital status lest there be doubt.

Beatrice Hoffman raised a substantial eyebrow and spoke with a stern voice, laying emphasis as well on the title, "Mrs. Dillon, You are late. The invitation you received said 10:00 AM. We do not tolerate tardiness." To Sydney, it was like hearing the lyrics of her own refrain shot back at her.

The suffragette continued, "For too many years the stereotypical female has been mocked for her tardiness. Men point at this perceived weakness as an attestation of our inferiority and incompetence. How can we expect to stand on equal ground with our male counterparts if we view punctuality as an option rather than a requirement of life? We must be ever vigilant to discharge our life's duties in this male dominated world, not as a man might but superior in thought, purpose and action. Only then will we begin to receive the respect that is our God-given right."

Beatrice Hoffman's face became less rigid, as she gave consideration to the woman standing before her. They had heard so many promising things about Sydney Tuttwell. However upon first impression, this somewhat disheveled young woman carried few of the distinctions they sought in their leaders. "Please sit, time is of the essence as we must organize our rally for tomorrow. I am pleased to see so many of you responded to our call to unite. Some of you may be aware, tomorrow is the tenth anniversary of Declaration of Independence for Women written by Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony and Matilda Joselyn Gage for the 100th Anniversary of the signing of the United States Declaration of Independence." She paused and looked again at the tardy school teacher. Intelligence gave light to the young woman's face. Her erect spine, squared shoulders and intent demeanor showed she may be worthy of their original assessment after all. Miss Hoffman beckoned with a finger, "Mrs. Dillon we had in mind for you to give the speech."

Sydney, who had just settled herself in place, rose again. She did so with the poise and grace that had been absent on her original entrance moments earlier. Beatrice handed her a printed document. "Please." She said.

Sydney cleared her throat and began reading aloud the declaration she'd read tens of times before. The words had already been committed to heart, much of it she had pondered upon. Her voice was strong, her enunciation perfect and her zeal evident as she proclaimed the sentiment shared by those fighting for the cause of equal rights.

_"While the nation is buoyant with patriotism, and all hearts are attuned to praise, it is with sorrow we come to strike the one discordant note, on this 100th anniversary of our country's birth. When subjects of kings, emperors and czars from the old world join in our national jubilee, shall the women of the republic refuse to lay their hands with benedictions on the nation's head? Surveying America's exposition, surpassing in magnificence those of London, Paris and Vienna, shall we not rejoice at the success of the youngest rival among the nations of the earth? May not our hearts, in unison with all, swell with pride at her great achievements as a people: our free speech, free press, free schools, free church and the rapid progress we have made in material wealth, trade, commerce and the inventive arts? And we do rejoice in the success, thus far, of our experiment of self-government. Our faith is firm and unwavering in the broad principles of human rights proclaimed in 1776, not only as abstract truths but as the cornerstones of a republic. Yet we cannot forget, even in this glad hour, that while all men of every race and clime and condition, have been invested with the full rights of citizenship under our hospitable flag, all women still suffer the degradation of disfranchisement" * (if interested, please see end of chapter for the rest of the original speech)_

Sydney read through the body of the document which enumerated the unequal codes governing men and women. She closed with the final paragraph. Her voice rang so clear and true that even those women who had come to the meeting for curiosity's sake were moved to an appreciated for the fight for equal human rights.

_And now, at the close of a hundred years, as the hour hand of the great clock that marks the centuries points to 1876, we declare our faith in the principles of self-government; our full equality with man in natural rights; that woman was made first for her own happiness, with the absolute right to herself - to all the opportunities and advantages life affords for her complete development; and we deny that dogma of the centuries, incorporated in the codes of nations - that woman was made for man - her best interests, in all cases, to be sacrificed to his will. We ask of our rulers, at this hour, no special favors, no special privileges, no special legislation. We ask justice, we ask equality, we ask that all the civil and political rights that belong to citizens of the United States, be guaranteed to us and our daughters forever._

Beatrice Hoffman and Ramona Hyatt exchanged a glance before the one nodded at the other. "You will do Mrs. Dillon. You will do very nicely."

Ramona Hyatt continued. "The rally is to begin tomorrow morning at 09:45, just as the mayor is scheduled to address the town. We will meet in front of the Episcopal church promptly at 9:30. Please wear a white shirtwaist and dark skirt. Placards and banner will be made available. We will march from the church to the front street location singing The Women's Battle Song to the tune of Onward Christian Soldiers." As she spoke, she handed out sheets of paper upon which were printed several anthems of the Suffrage movement. The song at the top of the page was The Women's Battle Song. When everyone had received their copy Miss Hoffman began singing in a strong although slightly off-key voice. Everyone soon joined in.

F**orward sister women!**

**Onward ever more,**

**Bondage is behind you,**

**Freedom is before,**

**Raise the standard boldly,**

**In the morning sun;**

**'Gainst a great injustice,**

**See the fight begun!**

**Forward, forward sisters!**

**Onward ever more!**

**Bondage is behind you,**

**Freedom is before.**

_* The history of our country the past one hundred years has been a series of assumptions and usurpations of power over woman, in direct opposition to the principles of just government, acknowledged by the United States as its foundations, which are:_

_First - the natural rights of each individual._

_Second - the equality of these rights._

_Third - that rights not delegated are retained by the individual_

_Fourth - that no person can exercise the rights of others without delegated authority_

_Fifth - that the non-use of rights does not destroy them_

_And for the violation of these fundamental principles of our government, we arraign our rulers on this Fourth day of July, 1876, - and these are our articles of impeachment:_

_Bills of attainder have been passed by the introduction of the word "male" into all the State constitutions, denying to women the right of suffrage, and thereby making sex a crime - an exercise of power clearly forbidden in article I, sections 9, 10, of the United States constitution._

_The writ of habeas corpus, the only protection against lettres de cachet and all forms of unjust imprisonment, which the constitution declares "shall not be suspended, except in cases of rebellion or invasion the public safety demands it," is held inoperative in every State of the Union, in case of a married woman against her husband - the marital rights of the husband being in all cases primary, and the rights of the wife secondary._

_The right of trial by jury of one's peers was so jealously guarded that States refused to ratify the original constitution until it was guaranteed by the sixth amendment. And yet the women of this nation have never been allowed a jury of their peers - being tried in all cases by men, native and foreign, educated and ignorant, virtuous and vicious. Young girls have been arraigned in our courts for the crime of infanticide; tried, convicted, hanged - victims, perchance, of judge, jurors, advocated - while no woman's voice could be heard in their defense. And not only are women denied a jury of their peers, but in some cases, jury trial altogether. During the was, a woman was tried and hanged by military law, in defiance of the fifth amendment, which specifically declares: "No person shall be held to answer for a capital crime or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a grand jury, except in cases . . . . of persons in actual service in time of war." During the last presidential campaign, a woman, arrested for voting, was denied the protection of a jury, tried, convicted, and sentenced to a fine and costs of prosecution, by the absolute power of a judge of the Supreme Court of the United States._

_Taxation without representation, the immediate cause of the rebellion of the colonies against Great Britain, is one of the grievous wrongs the women of this country have suffered during the century. Deploring war, with all the demoralization that follows in its train, we have been taxed to support standing armies, with their waste of life and wealth. Believing in temperance, we have been taxed to support the vice, crime, and pauperism of the liquor traffic. While we suffer its wrongs and abuses infinitely more than man, we have no power to protect our sons against this giant evil. During the temperance crusade, mothers were arrested, fined, imprisoned, for even praying and singing in the streets, while men blockaded the sidewalks with impunity, even on Sunday, with their military parades and political processions. Believing in honesty, we are taxed to support a dangerous army of civilians, buying and selling the offices of government and sacrificing the best interests of the people. And, moreover, we are taxed to support the very legislators and judges who make laws, and render decisions adverse to women. And for refusing to pay unjust taxation, the houses, lands, bonds, and stock of women have been seized and sold within the present year, thus proving Lord Coke's assertion, that "The very act of taxing a man's property without his consent is, in effect, disfranchising him of every civil right."_

_Unequal codes for men and women. Held by law a perpetual minor incapable of self-protection, even in the industries of the world, woman is denied equality of rights. The fact of sex, not the quantity or quality of work, in most cases, decides the pay and position; and because of this injustice thousands of fatherless girls are compelled to choose between a life of shame and starvation. Laws catering to man's vices have created two codes of morals in which penalties are graded according to the political status of the offender. Under such laws, women are fined and imprisoned if found alone in the streets, or in public places of resort, at certain hours. Under the pretense of regulating public morals, police officers seizing the occupants of disreputable houses, march the women in platoons to prison, while the men, partners in their guilt, go free. While making a show of virtue in forbidding the importation of Chinese women on the Pacific coast for immoral purposes, our rulers, in many States, and even under the shadow of the national capitol, are now proposing to legalize the sale of American womanhood for the same vile purposes._

_Special legislation for woman has placed us in a most anomalous position. Women invested with the rights of citizens in one section - voters, jurors, office-holders - crossing an imaginary line, are subjects in the next. In some States, a married woman may hold property and transact business in her own name; in others, her earnings belong to her husband. In some Stated, a woman may testify against her husband, sue and be sued in courts; in others, she has no redress in case of damage to her person, property, or character. In case of divorce on account of adultery in the husband, the innocent wife is held to possess no right to children or property, unless by special decree of the court. But in no State of the Union has the wife the right to her own person, or to any part of the joint earnings of the co-partnership during the life of her husband. In some States women may enter law schools and practice in the courts; in others they are forbidden. In some universities girls enjoy equal educational advantages with boys, while many of the proudest institutions in the land deny them admittance, though the sons of China, Japan, and Africa re welcomed there. But the privileges already granted in the several States are by no means secure. The right of suffrage once exercised by women in certain States and territories has been denied by subsequent legislation. A bill is now pending in congress to disfranchise the women of Utah, thus interfering to deprive United States citizens of the same rights which the Supreme Court has declared the national government powerless to protect anywhere. Laws passed after years of untiring effort, guaranteeing married women certain rights of property, and mothers the custody of their children, have been repealed in States where we supposed all was safe. Thus have our most sacred rights been made the football of legislative caprice, proving that a power which grants as a privilege what by nature is a right, may withhold the same as a penalty when deeming it necessary for its own perpetuation._

_Representation of woman has had no place in the nation's thought. Since the incorporation of the thirteen original States, twenty-four have been admitted to the Union, not one of which has recognized woman's right of self-government. On this birthday of our national liberties, July Fourth 1876, Colorado, like all her elder sisters, comes into the Union with the invidious word "male" in her constitution._

_The judiciary above the nation has proved itself but the echo of the party in power, by upholding and enforcing laws that are opposed to the spirit and letter of the constitution. When the slave power was dominant, the Supreme Court decided that a black man was not a citizen, because he had not the right to vote; and when the constitution was so amended as to make all persons citizens, the same high tribunal decided that a woman, though a citizen, had not the right to vote. Such vacillating interpretations of constitutional law unsettle our faith in judicial authority, and undermine the liberties of the whole people._

_These articles of impeachment against our rulers we now submit to the impartial judgment of the people. To all these wrongs and oppressions woman has not submitted in silence and resignation. From the beginning of the century, when Abigail Adams, the wife of one president and the mother of another, said, "We will not hold ourselves bound to obey laws in which we have no voice or representation," until now, woman's discontent has been steadily increasing, culminating nearly thirty years ago in a simultaneous movement among the women of the nation, demanding the right of suffrage. In making our just demands, a higher motive than the pride of sex inspires us; we feel that national safety and stability depend on the complete recognition of the broad principles of our government. Woman's degraded, helpless position is the weak point in our institutions to-day; a disturbing force everywhere, severing family ties, filling our asylums with the deaf, the dumb, the blind; our prisons with criminals, our cities with drunkenness and prostitution; our homes with disease and death. it was the boast of the founders of the republic, that the rights for which they contended were the rights of human nature. If these rights are ignored in the case of one-half the people, the nation is surely preparing for its downfall. Governments try themselves. The recognition of a governing and a governed class in incompatible with the first principles of freedom. Woman has not been a heedless spectator of the events of this century, not a dull listener to the grand arguments for the equal rights of humanity. From the earliest history of our country woman has shown equal devotion with man to the cause of freedom, and has stood firmly by his side in its defense. Together, they have made this country what it is. Woman's wealth, thought and labor have cemented the stones of every monument man has reared to liberty._


	64. Chapter 64

**Sixty-four**

Back at the Boarding House a different kind of campaign was being waged in the hot muggy kitchen. Ma and Grandma Heitzer were each preparing their special pastry for the pie baking contest.

Herbie was helping his grandmother and Matilda was assisting Ma. Both women cast frequent suspicious glances at the other, suspecting their competition was attempting to steal away their secrets.

"You just keep your eyes on what you're doing Mrs. Smalley. I'll not have you flavoring your pie with my secret ingredients." Grandma Heitzer warned when she saw Ma glance her way.

Ma retaliated, and flour flew about her as she shook her finger in the direction of her rival, "I'll remind you of whose kitchen you're in and whose pie you've been wolfing down for dessert ever since you moved to my boarding house."

Grandma Heitzer took a step closer to Ma, hands on hips to widen her already plump frame, "Psha ... You're pie is only fair to middling - no contest winner. My pies have come in second place to Edsel Pry for the last ten years, this year I plan on taking home the blue ribbon."

Mrs. Smalley moved forward and now the two ladies were standing near nose to nose. The tension between them stickier than Ma's pie dough, "Well, you're right about one thing. The blue ribbon will be coming home to this house, but it will be atop my pie!"

"That's a laugh!" Ma declared. "I oughta send you out of my kitchen."

"Just try to make me leave."

Stopping an all out rumble was an impatient knock at the front door. Mrs. Smalley glanced down at her flour dusted, sweat soaked dress. She knew her hair had escaped the tight bun at the nape of her neck and her face was flushed with heat and anger, "Answer the door for me Matilda and if it's someone looking for a room tell 'em we're full up."

Matilda looked from Grandma Heitzer to Ma, "'Kay, but don't do any more fighting 'til I get back, I don't wanna miss anything."

"Just answer the door like I told you young lady, don't need no sass from you too."

Matilda skipped out of the kitchen letting the swinging door close behind her. Two saddle traps were standing on the other side of the oval beveled glass. The little girl turned the knob and as she did the men pushed their way in. "Taffy Boyd live here?"

"She's sleeping, she doesn't get up until it's lunch time."

"Go wake her up, tell her a couple of old friends are here to see her."

Ma called from the kitchen, "Matilda, who's there?"

"Some friends of Miss Taffy's."

"Good Heavens," Mrs. Smalley muttered with a quick look at Grandma Heitzer and then louder for Matilda's benefit, "are they menfolk?"

"Yup." Matilda answered back.

Ma quickly wiped the pie dough off her hands, smoothed back her hair and scurried to the front door. Something about the strangers standing in her front hall didn't set right with the old woman and she felt a twinge of apprehension at having them in her house. Still, she summoned forth bravado,

"Miss Taffy don't usually receive guests this early. You can visit with her this afternoon at the Long Branch."

The strangers had been scanning the room as Ma spoke, looking at the front stairs and down the hall leading to the dining room, parlor and kitchen beyond. One of them moved into the parlor fingering the scarf on top of the piano, and lifting up the china figurine on the fireplace mantle. The other man made a move to the staircase. Ma's eyes narrow at the pair. Her voice took on mettle, "Stop touching my things with your dirty hands. You boys go on, now, there's nothing for you here."

With a smarmy grin one of the men moved closer to Ma, he ran the back of his hand over her fuzzy cheek, "We don't mean _you_ no harm old woman." His hand dropped from Ma's face to Matilda's russet curls.

Ma grabbed hold of the child in a protective way. She produced her sternest voice, "I said go on now, this is a respectable home."

The man ignored her and instead forced Matilda to look up at him, "Well, ain't you a pretty lil' thing, you're gonna grow into a real looker."

Ma's flesh crawled, and she clung tighter to Matilda's shoulders. "Get out."

The other man pulled his partner back, "Come on, let's head over to the Long Branch. We can get a head start on Taffy."

Ma stared after the men. When they were out the door she hurried forward to lock it, realizing it was small protection. Anyone mean enough to break in would merely shatter the glass and enter at will. She was shaking when she turned back to face Matilda.

The little girl could feel Ma tremble, "They were nasty men weren't they Ma?"

She nodded her head, "Good Book says, Judge not lest ye be judged but ... yes they were nasty men."

Grandma Heitzer had dashed out from the kitchen with rolling pin in hand just in case she needed to defend Ma and Matilda. For the moment their pie feud was forgotten.

"So many strangers in town, what with Independence Day coming up and all." Grandma Heitzer tried to sooth.

"There was something pure mean to that pair." Ma said. "I've seen my share of cowpokes and saddle bums. Those two were something different. Don't like it at all that they were looking around here and don't like it one bit the way they was looking at Matilda."

With one old lady leading the other they returned to the kitchen where they shared a cup of tea laced with a little brandy to shore up their nerves.

"Can Herbie and I go out and play Ma?" Matilda requested when she noticed Ma's hands were no longer shaking when she picked up her tea cup.

Ma nodded, "But keep to the back yard close to the house and stay together. Keep your eyes open. Too many strangers in town up to no good. I'm gonna have to have a talk with your Pa when he gets home and Miss Taffy too."

Outside on the porch, Matilda gave Herbie a punch on the arm. "Come on." She said jumping from the top step to the ground three steps below.

"Where are you going? We're not s'posed to leave the yard."

"We're going to follow those two guys?"

"Why?"

"Cause, they're bad guys we might need evidence."

"How do you figure they're bad guys?"

"Oh, they're bad, Ma said so ... and I think I saw one of 'em when Doc took us fishing the other day."

"Matilda ... I don't think this is such a good idea, your Pa wouldn't like it none."

"You don't have to come if you you're scared." Matilda said over her shoulder as she ran down the path to the front of the boarding house.

Herbie hesitated. He didn't want to be accused of being chicken and he sure didn't want a girl being braver than he, but he was decidedly uneasy about disobeying Ma.

He hesitated for a beat and then ran off after the little girl.


End file.
